Where There Was None
by TolkienGirl
Summary: While the conflicts between Robin and the Sheriff are heightened, Rose, a strong-willed and independent peasant girl, is forced to take up residence at Nottingham Castle as a serving maid. There, even as she fights against it, she finds home, love, and goodness where there was none. Guy x OC, Marian x Robin, with plenty of the gang, Prince John, and more. (All rights go to owners)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi all! This is my first Robin Hood fic-I've finally finished all the seasons (SADNESS of Season 3 ending-cried so much!) and am writing a chapter fic that I've had in mind for a while. A few little explanations...**

**1) I love Robin, Marian, and Guy, so this fic pairs RxM and Guy with an OC. Kate is in the story (not sure about Isabella yet) but she'll be paired with...well, we'll have to see. Not with Robin!**

**2) Season 2x13 did NOT end with Marian dying. Rather, she was wounded, she and Robin were married, and they ALL (as in, Djaq and Will too (they're not married yet)!) returned from the Holy Land, where Marian has joined them in Sherwood Forest...along with Tuck. And Kate, as aforementioned.**

**3) I've got an idea for this as a long fic, but I can't promise constant updates. I hope to keep it going pretty quickly, though! And reviews, favorites, PMs, anything-all really motivate me. :)**

**4) I know that I really ought to be writing my Sherlock fics (and I will!) but I like to have a few things going at once. Please bear with me! I might start doing RH one-shots if I'm being too slow with my longer fics.**

**5) This fic is rated T, because there are more mature themes in it. Robin and Marian are married (nothing inappropriate will be shown, obviously, but just some affection) and Guy can be a womanizer (again, I'll try to keep it mild). As my profile promises, of course, I'll keep it clean, but this isn't a K fic. There will also be some violence.**

**That's all for now! Hope you enjoy! Please let me know anything that you would like included in this fic OR that you see as in need of improvement.**

**We are Robin Hood!**

**5/4/2013: This story is dedicated to ThefadingdaysofMay**

**~TolkienGirl**

Chapter One-Rose

The cart's wheels creaked as they rumbled across the old bridge. It had been many miles—maybe ten, but Rose couldn't be sure—, and since they had left Derbyshire the sun had risen into the sky and was now showering unwelcome heat upon her head and shoulders. She shifted on the rough bench of the cart. Discomfort. Hours of discomfort, and yet she didn't want the journey to be over.

"Are we nearly there, Father?" her tone sounded worried—she wondered if he'd detect the irony. Probably not. Why ought it to occur to him that she was less than delighted with her lot?

Beneath the rough weave of his cloak, she saw her father's broad shoulders shift into an indecisive shrug. "I don't know. It's been a few years since—but ho! Look!" Dropping the reins with one hand, he pointed, and she followed the line of his finger to the imposing outline of stone battlements that had just appeared over the treetops.

"Nottingham Castle," he said, with pride—though she knew not why he was proud of it. "Your new home."

Rose ran her fingers—strangely cold, despite the sun's warmth—over the brown woolen skirt that was spread over her knees. "Not home, I hope." Her voice was halting. "I'll—I can visit you for Holy Days, can I not?"

Why hadn't she thought to ask about such things before?

Her father's gaze shied away from her, skittish as a nervous horse. "Well…not exactly. It's—it's the nature of the bargain, you see. You're apprenticed, if that's the right way to say it…not ladylike, I know, but as a maid of sorts. It's—it's only seven years, Rose. Your little brothers won't be half-grown when you come home again."

"I don't understand!" she cried. An old woman plucking weeds from rows of corn that edged the roadside looked startled, doubtless disapproving of the tone in which a maid had just addressed her father. But Rose paid no heed to her. "You said that it was a term of service, but not—not….I mean, I thought…"

"I've got to pay off my debts." Again, he looked shamefaced. "You'll be well taken care of."

Anger filled her veins, but she was not surprised. In fact, she felt only as though the death knell she'd been expecting had finally tolled…but she had been expecting it. "I'm your daughter," she whispered thickly. "I…"

"And I'll always care for you, lass!" He placed an arm about her shoulder. "By all the saints, I swear you'll be looked after."

"By whom?"

"Well…well, by the cooks and other maids. And I'm sure the Sheriff—"

"The Sheriff? Father, you can't be serious." As soon as the words had left her mouth, she knew that he was. Or to be exact, he had merely not thought it through at all before now. The battlements, majestic as they had been before, looked crueler now.

She tightened her fists and her jaw—that jaw whose strong lines had deterred many eligible young men. Perhaps she ought to curse that jaw—had she married one of the amiable but vacant sops who had hung around like hungry cats, she wouldn't be sent off to a strange place at the embarrassing age of nineteen. "Father," she said slowly, deliberately. She had to say something, but it was no good to try and think, of poor dear mother—or of the twins—or of little Jack. "Please make sure that Aylmer is looked after."

Her father's brow furrowed. "Lass, it's nearly our parting words…you're asking after your cat?"

Did he really think she felt this less than he did? Did he really think that his guilty recompense for gambling debts—an offense against his family and God—was unsurpassed by the pain of the daughter he was using to pay for them? Didn't he know that she spoke of the cat because she couldn't bear the thought of the other, dearer ones she was leaving behind?

Rose knew the answers to the questions almost before she'd asked them. Through gritted teeth, she repeated, "Yes, the cat."

"Alright, then." Her father's tone had turned absentminded as they approached the ancient portcullis; he had other things to worry about. The guards pacing within had a grim look about them.

"Halt! Who goes there?" The question was a command.

"Thomas Acre, of Derbyshire. I've my daughter, Rose." Rose averted her gaze from the guard's curious one as her father laid out the details. She was being ogled, and it was unpleasant.

_I can't help being pretty_, she thought bitterly, pulling her light cloak around her shoulders to conceal any suggestions of a figure from the guard's coarse view. Let him look at her face.

Satisfied—by what, Rose didn't exactly wish to know—the guard let them pass. As they rode into the city, jostling over the cobblestones, her father mentioned how stringent the security was.

"Twasn't like this when I was young," he remarked mournfully.

"Likely it's because of the outlaws, Father," Rose reminded him patiently.

"Now there's a pretty thought to fill your head," he admonished, a trifle gruffly. "All this talk of outlaws—of this Robin Hood. A lot of fanciful nonsense, that!"

"It's true, Father." Rose's tone was only slightly defiant. She didn't feel like arguing. Feigning disinterest, she kept a sharp eye on the dim corners of shop-keepers stalls, patches of shadow that were a striking contrast to the sun-washed town square. If the rumors were true, perhaps she could catch sight of the elusive—

But no, there were too many. Too many tradesmen, too many guards, too many old women haggling over the price of turnips. Above all loomed the castle, a beacon of protection—or at least that was what it ought to be. To Rose's eyes, it was more sinister. A prison rather than a refuge.

My new—my new place of dwelling. She couldn't bring herself to say home.

Not yet. Not until she had to.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two-Sherwood

It was midday. The sunlight, tinted green-gold by the broad leaves of ancient trees, filtered down onto the road that ran through Sherwood forest.

All was serene and quiet, with only the occasional winsome birdsong and wafting breeze to break the tranquil silence.

At length, the sound of a wagon's creaking wheels could be heard around a bend in the worn road. It was a large wagon, laden with sacks whose irregular lumpiness suggested that they were filled with some sort of coinage.

Even for foreigners and strangers, however, Sherwood forest had something of a reputation—and so the cart was not unguarded. Six mail-clad men strode behind it, swords clanking at their thighs. The carts driver was also in armor, and his small eyes peered from beneath his helmet, clearly distrusting the gentle-seeming wood.

The leader's misgivings were not in vain. As they crossed between two mighty oaks, there went up a great shout, and suddenly three green and brown clad men leapt out, armed with bows and arrows.

The horses whinnied, pawing restlessly. The leader raised the visor of his helmet. "What's all this?"

"An ambush!" one of the men explained. He had a teasing smile, mischievous features, and wide blue eyes.

"There's three of you," one of the guards shouted, "And seven of us!"

"Three?" said the one with the teasing smile. "Oh, but you're missing the point—this is only the welcoming committee! The rest will be…dropping by…shortly."

"Dropping by?" said the leader. "What—"

He had no time to complete his sentence, as just then, four more dropped down from the tree tops, swinging on ropes and felling every guard to the ground.

The teasing smile grew wider. "There they are."

One of the ones who had dropped down had scrambled to his feet in an instant and now stood, looking down with folded arms and an amused expression. He was tall and lean, with a boyish face, a hint of a beard, and tousled brown hair. His green eyes crackled with energy, and the agile hands that wrapped with deceptive carelessness around his recurved bow were the hands of a noble, despite his worn leather doublet and weather beaten cloak.

"A fine day, isn't it, my good sirs?"

"Not so fine since you came into it, Robin Locksley."

Robin's eyebrows shot up. "You know my name! Flattered. Can't return the favor—I don't know yours…but I imagine it's the name of a money-grubbing mercenary who will cart away the people's livelihood to serve some plot of the Sherriff."

"Prince John, actually!" cried the leader, getting angry.

Robin fitted an arrow to his bow. "You don't deny the money-grubbing mercenary part, so I'm sure you'll understand why we see fit to take the whole of it. On it men."

"Cut them down!" shouted the leader, but his appeals were in vain. His men had already been subdued, and he alone remained to be unseated—an action which was readily performed by Locksley himself.

In a few minutes it was over. The bags were taken—the guards and their leader trussed up and loaded into the cart, and the horses given a switch to the haunches to get them off and running.

"Regards to Prince John, from Robin Hood!"

"Well done, men," said Robin, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he grinned broadly at the retreating cart. "Will, Tuck, John, get this money returned to the villagers. Much, Allan, go to Nottingham. This is the first we've heard from the Sherriff in a few days. See what he's up to. Djaq, Kate, what about dinner?"

"Dinner?" said Djaq, her brown eyes skeptical. "Always ask the women, right Robin, even though I can barely cook?"

"Djaq, you _know_ what happened the last time Much made the stew. He's lost his touch of late with the cooking! It's not something I want repeated!"

The two women rolled their eyes but made off into the forest, setting arrows at the ready on their bows.

The master of Sherwood stood alone in the forest for a few moments, surveying the greenery that was quiet and peaceful once more. Then he turned on his heel and ran as lithely as a deer through the trees, making for the outlaws' camp.


	3. Chapter 3

__Chapter Three-Guy

_"I love Robin Hood."_

Would he never be free of those words?

Guy pushed away the serving girl, weary of her kisses. "Go back to your work."

The girl stumbled back unsteadily. She was more than a little drunk. "But—"

"Go!" he snarled, and she went. He closed the door of his chambers behind her and reached for a half-filled goblet of wine. It would wash away the memory of the maid's lips, but it could not drown out those relentless words, delivered by the soft, sweet voice he loved.

_"I love Robin Hood._"

His response to those words had not been anything that would increase what little affection—if any—she had for him.

Again, he felt his grip tighten around the hilt of his sword—again, he thrust forward, at her. Through her. He saw her blue-green eyes go wide with pain, her mouth rounding in shock.

Thanks be to God that she had lived. If she had not—

But that did not really matter. She was dead to him, forever, anyway. Locksley's wife.

The very thought filled him with bitterness, as did the remembrance, that he, who had professed to love her—who did love her, with burning passion—would rather have destroyed her than see her united with his enemy.

That they were happy, happy in their adventurous life and humble forest home, he did not doubt. He was alone, trying to fill the abyss with serving girls and wine and bloodshed—but all for naught.

He was in darkness. His soul, his heart—both were black, for all eternity. The only one who could have saved him was gone.

_"I love Robin Hood."_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four-Rose

"Is this it, then?"

Rose had sworn she wouldn't cry. Why should she cry for him? For Thomas Acre, her bumbling, gambling, irresponsible father? What had he ever done for her—what was he doing for her now? Why should she…

The tears were very nearly overflowing as she threw her arms around his neck and he embraced her with that clumsy sort of affection that always comes from the guilty. He was guilty, but for this single moment in time—when the crows flapped lazily over the castle wall, when the crowded square seemed suddenly to have grown dim and faraway—for this moment, she loved him again. Loved him as she had when she was only a small child, running through the high grasses of the meadows that tickled her cheeks.

She had been small then, but she felt smaller now.

"Say your prayers, and do as you're told—"

Rose stiffened, once more the wary daughter who knew better than to trust placating words. "I'll take care of myself, Father. You're the one who ought to be making promises."

His gaze shifted away from her again. "Of course."

"No more gambling." Rose lowered her voice so that the whole square (which was close and loud again) might not hear of the new maid's family troubles. "Please. You haven't got a cent left. Isn't that why I'm here?"

The pain and shame that was written across his once-handsome, now weather-beaten face hurt her, but she couldn't let him get away with this. "I mean it, Father. If I have to be here, you've got to promise."  
"I promise," he said, and patted her shoulder.

She sighed as he climbed back up into the cart.

He didn't mean it. He didn't mean it, and there was nothing she could do about it. Instead, she clutched her burlap bundle of belongings beneath her cloak and watched him nod to her and chirrup to the horse. He was going.

The cart rumbled away.

He was gone.

**A/N: Sorry for another short chapter! The next one will be longer! PLEASE review! I beg you :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Guess who's in this chapter? MARIAN! She's alive (of course! :))**

**Enjoy, read, and review.**

Chapter Five-Sherwood

"Back so soon, my love?"

Robin returned Marian's smile as he settled down by her bedside, clasping her hand. Though still weak, her wound from Guy's sword was healing well. She could walk about again, though she rested often; she had eaten some of the mutton from yesterday's dinner, and the roses in her pale cheeks were slowly but surely returning.

"I thought I'd catch a few minutes alone with you," he whispered playfully, stealing a kiss. "It's not often enough that husband and wife can find solitude in this forest."

Marian's blue-green eyes met his with her usual look of affectionate accusation. "Let me guess—you've set all the others off on ridiculous tasks so that we have ten minutes to ourselves."

Robin's smirk gave him away. "Something like that."

"You're incorrigible."

"They weren't ridiculous tasks entirely!" he defended himself. "I would never waste my men's time, you know that."

"Of course." She leaned back against her pillow. "Oh, by all that's holy—"

"Don't swear. Unbecoming in a lady."

She glared at him. "It's just, I can't wait to be back out with you—fighting for the cause."

"Not till you're well." His usually mischievous green eyes became grave. "Marian, I can't risk you. You know that. And if Guy were to try again—" his voice grew hard, angry.

Marian put a hand on his arm. "Robin, please try to forgive…"

He stood up, his jaw set. "Marian. I can't."

"He wouldn't hurt me again."

"You can't know that. If he'd killed—"

Her sweet features had grown serious too, and insistent. "He didn't. You don't have to hate him for what he did, Robin. He hates himself enough already."

"Let him." It was said through gritted teeth.

"Darling, you're tiring me out with all your righteous anger." She smiled half-sweetly, half-teasingly at him, knowing it was the best way to keep from vengeful thoughts against Gisborne. They didn't need that at the moment.

Instantly, he was all concern, his still-boyish brow furrowing. "Is the wound hurting you?"

She shifted restlessly. "A little."

"Shall I kiss you better?" his smile quirked up again.

"_Robin._"

"What? We're married!"

"Yes, but I can hear Much coming. We don't want to scandalize him."

"'Course not. But I thought I sent him to Nottingham!"

"You did," said Much's voice, behind him. Robin stood and turned. "Well then, what's wrong?

"A messenger stopped me, looking for you. I told him I'd deliver this." Gravely, with his blue eyes round as marbles, Much held out a small roll of thick ivory parchment. "Robin, it's from the King."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six-Guy

"GISBORNE!"

"My lord?"

"It's happened. _Again._" The Sherriff's features were scrunched up with rage. "Locksley's attacked _another_ cart."

"What of it?" As soon as the words had left his lips, he knew it hadn't been the right thing to say.

"WHAT OF IT?" Guy dodged a book, and an inkstand, that came flying his way. "I'm surrounded by FOOLS! That wagon was loaded with gold to be sent to Prince John. You know what for! To finance the search! And now what of it? I'll tell you what of it, Gisborne, now that gold has been sent to God knows where by that—by that—vile_ fox,_ Hood. I want him DEAD!"

The Sherriff wanted Hood dead upwards of twice day, but Guy thought it wisest not to comment on that. "My lord, I will hunt him down."

The Sherriff drew near to him, shaking a beringed finger beneath his nose. "So you've said before, Gisborne. And every time, you've failed."

"It will be different this time."

The Sherriff's fury faded into a diabolical smile. "Ah yes, _very_ different this time. I'd quite forgotten. Your little leper friend…the one who you'd been confiding in all this time, will not be able to carry messages to Hood anymore. And why not?" He paused for emphasis, and Guy ground his teeth, forcing himself not to wince. "Because they've gone off and gotten _married_." He prodded Guy's chest. "Joke. On. You."

Guy was silent before the Sherriff's laughter. "I'll not confide in anyone again, my lord. I can find Hood. I can kill him."

"Then get to it. I want that gold returned. NOW!" The birdcages rattled.

"It will be done, my lord."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: A bit more development and crossing of paths, finally! Please review :)**

Chapter Seven-Rose

It couldn't have been more than a few moments that she stood there, in the bustling kitchen courtyard of Nottingham Castle, swallowing tears and fury and the silly, childish impulse that kept making her want to go and run after him.

_Come now, Rose Acre. You're nineteen—more than old enough to be married!_ It was high time, then, that she stopped sniveling over a father who would never satisfy her.

She shouldered her small sack and walked through the stone doorway of the kitchen.

"You! Girl! Why're you standing there like a lazy oaf?"

The cries of the corpulent cook accosted her as soon as she stepped in.

"I'm sorry!" she shouted, over the din. "I'm new here—I'm the new maid!"

The cook stopped stirring her stew—or whatever it was, soup, stew…it smelled delicious—and paused to look at her, fat hands on fatter hips. "Well then. You're too pretty—not putting on airs, I trust?"

What was it, always, with the prettiness? "No ma'am."

The cook prissed up her lips disapprovingly. "Alright then. Quarters in the back, get an apron, go scrub those vegetables. Well, what are you still standing here for? Half the day's gone already, you've got to earn your keep!"

Earn your keep. The words tasted bitter, especially as she tried to cement them in her mind as the sole purpose for her new life.

"Here, follow me." A new voice had spoken—a quiet voice which, nonetheless, managed to pierce through the din.

Rose turned to face a pair of large brown eyes in a thin, pale face. "I'm Aileen. I can show you the quarters."

Slightly comforted by Aileen's simple kindness, Rose followed the slim brown-haired figure towards the rear of the kitchens, a long narrow hallway of cold, muddy stone lined with bunks.

_Home._

She thought of the hut—it had been a hut, but Mother was there, and the boys, and the scent of flowers and clean straw…nothing like this. Drudgery.

That was to be her lot.

"It's not so bad, really," said Aileen, with a shy smile. "Not when you've got used to it. And—and you're pretty. You'll manage." She blushed.

"Pretty?" Rose shook her head. "What does that have to do with it?"

Aileen's smile was sad. "Everything." She brushed her thin hands against her threadbare apron. "But come now, we don't want cook forming a bad opinion of you on your first day. That wouldn't do a'tall."

Rose sighed. "Hasn't she formed one already?"

"Oh no," Aileen assured her. "That's just her way. Come, there's vegetables to be scrubbed. You _do_ know how to scrub vegetables, right?"

Rose was a little offended. "I'm from the country. I've done my share of work."

"Of course! I didn't mean to offend. But your hands—the shape. They look a lady's."

Rose smiled. "My own misfortune."

The vegetables were scrubbed to Cook's satisfaction before long, but Rose could not shake the feeling of discomfiture that hung about her. There was something so strange about being dropped off one moment and plunged into a new life the next without a moment to take it all in.

_What did you expect? A warm welcome?_

_No. But not…not this._

"Girl, stop standing and staring! You've a quarter hour for dinner, and that's as much as anyone could ask!" The cook's brusque voice broke into Rose's reverie, and hastily, she recovered as a rough loaf and a small water skin were thrust into her hand.

"Come, sit out in the courtyard!" She heard Aileen beside her, and happy to be out of the hot kitchen and away from Cook's watchful eye, she followed.

The courtyard, though imposing, was softened a bit by a few trees that managed to grow between the cracked cobblestones. Aileen sunk down on the stones, tucking her feet beneath her and spreading her simple fare before her. Rose did likewise, feeling slightly awkward, and wondering once more how she had gotten into this so quickly.

"So what's your name?" Aileen asked, pushing her straight brown hair behind her shoulders. "You never told me—how's that for manners?" her eyes were teasing.

"Rose. And I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's nothing. First day—pretty hard, right?"

Rose was about to reply, when the sound of the creaking portcullis was heard, and then clatter of hooves in the main courtyard. Aileen scrambled to her feet, looking nervous, and Rose did the same.

"What's going on?"

Aileen didn't answer. The next moment, several horsemen, clad in black-and-yellow livery, pounded through the gates, followed by a man on a black horse. He was in black too, black leather—with a caped doublet and high boots. Rose found herself fascinated as he swung down from his horse, shouting orders to his men. His back was turned to her, but she could see that his thick tousled hair was as black as his attire, and that he was tall, lean-hipped and broad-shouldered. When he turned, she caught a glimpse of pale, strong-carved features and a flash of piercing blue eyes.

"Who is that?" He was the most interesting thing she'd seen all day, and she wasn't sure yet if she should be frightened of him.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne," Aileen said softly. Rose looked at her and caught in her eyes that same, sad, wistful smile she'd seen before.

"Do you—"

"Do I what?" Aileen flushed. "Sir Guy's the Sheriff's righthand man, and the best swordsman in England, unless…"

"Unless what?" Rose felt her natural impatience rising up, and she wished Aileen would finish her sentences.

"The outlaw," Aileen whispered. "Robin Hood. Some say he's better, but I doubt it."

"You like Sir Guy, don't you?"

Aileen wrapped her thin arms about her as though to protect some secret. "Does it matter? Look at him. Look at me."

Rose wasn't sure what to say, so she turned her gaze back to the fascinating man in black, who was handing one of his horses off to his men. As he pulled off his leather gloves, he glanced towards where she and Aileen were standing.

Rose met his gaze, curiosity getting the better of decorum.

Even from across the courtyard, she could see one of his fine-drawn eyebrows arch dangerously.  
She heard Aileen's voice flutter in an anxious whisper, "Look away, he doesn't like defiance."

Rose knew very well that she ought to look away, down, showing her submission and deference, but there was something in Sir Guy's proud stance and look of regal disgust that brought up all her most incorrigible feelings of stubbornness. Leveling her chin, she stared straight back at him.

He checked his stride and turned, making towards them.

_Bad idea, Rose. You idiot. Look away._

_For him? For this proud—_

"Gisborne!" A shrill, rather nasal, and yet authoritative voice came from one of the castle windows. Gisborne's head snapped up, looking towards the voice.

This allowed Rose to observe that his profile, particularly his perfectly straight nose, was very striking.

The voice at the window and Gisborne exchanged a few words—she could hear nothing more than the deep rumble that was his voice—and then he took himself and his arrogant stride and his black leather away from the humble kitchen corner and up the broad stone steps that led to the keep.

Rose felt Aileen's cold hand close around her arm tightly. "Don't be stupid, Rose! He has a temper!"

"Let him." Still, she could shake the feeling of rebellion that boiled up within her, mixed with something else that she couldn't quite name.

"Let him?" Aileen's voice grew desperate. "You're only a serving girl! He's a noble! And…he can be cruel. Very cruel."

Rose turned to her in surprise. "I thought you liked him."

Aileen passed a hand over her eyes. "I do."

Cook's stentorian tones were heard from within the kitchen, and, realizing that she had not yet even eaten her bread, Rose reluctantly followed Aileen, who seemed oddly eager to return to drudgery rather than continue their conversation.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight-Sherwood

"From the King?" Marian tried to sit up in bed and moaned. Robin laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Lie back, love. You've got to save your strength."

"My strength?" grumbled Marian. "I'll never get well if I don't exert myself occasionally, Robin."

"It's a sword wound. If you hadn't been lucky, you wouldn't have—" Robin did not finish he thought, but turned to look at his wife meaningfully.

"I can't believe we're supposed to cook, when Much has cooked all this time…one bad stew from him and it's back to the women—" Djaq's half-joking jibe died on her lips as she saw the others gathered around.

"What is it?" Kate asked, her blue eyes worried.

"It's from the King," said Robin. "Everyone, gather round."

"But Master," said Much, "Will and John and Allan and Tuck—they're not here. You know, they went to—to Nottingham, and the towns, to give back the money and see what the Sheriff was doing and why the money was for Prince John—"

"Enough, Much, thank you." Robin shook his head, pressing his lips together. "You and Kate, go find them. But this can't wait. I'm sure that you understand. I've got to read it, and as soon as you're back, we'll talk over it together. Go!"

Much and Kate bounded off together, while Djaq stood silently, arms folded, two forgotten rabbits slumped at her feet.

"Do you want me to go? And hear it later, with the others?"

"No, Djaq. Stay. Marian's wound is worse."

"Robin, it's not," Marian protested. "I've just gotten a bit excited, that's all."

"You need to rest. No excitement." Djaq raised a warning hand, and with the other, drew forth a vial from the pocket of her vest. "Here, drink this."

"Read the message from the King, Robin." Marian's voice was earnest, and she drained the tonic hastily, grimacing at the taste. "We need to know."

Slowly, Robin unfurled the roll of parchment. His brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

"I don't know."

"Is it blank?" Djaq asked. As usual, her demand was not one of impatience, but merely of practicality.

"Not blank. Just cryptic."

"What does it _say?_" Marian prodded her husband's shoulder.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud, _"Robin—a grave matter has come to my attention. There is one who must be protected. Speak to the Abbot of Kirklees. He will know. Beware of my brother. He, too, searches, as I do. You must do everything in your power to halt, or at least to delay him."_

"It's signed with the royal seal," Djaq remarked, peering over his shoulder. "It's real."

"Of course it's real." Robin rolled up the parchment, his green eyes pensive. "I just don't know what it means."

"The Abbot of Kirklees knows. Well…" Marian mused on this for a moment while Robin and Djaq urged her to rest rather than worry. "It's a royal matter, obviously. A secret."

"Clearly, my love." Robin crouched down beside her and wrapped one of her curls around his finger, but his other hand toyed uneasily with the letter.

"The convoy you attacked," Marian said suddenly. "Much said the money was for Prince John. What does the Prince need money for? So much, and so suddenly?"

"You're a genius, Marian." Robin grinned at her. "I'm too addlepated to know what about yet, but I think you're onto something. Of course the Sheriff's tied up with this, as usual." He straightened up and paced about. "We've got have somebody on the inside."

"Unfortunately," Marian sighed, "I can't do that anymore."

"No," Robin said firmly. "You cannot. Don't get any ideas." He ran his fingers through his unruly brown hair, frustrated. "None of us can—we're too well known. We need…somebody new."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine-Guy

Another day had gone, and Hood was still alive.

Alive, with Marian.

_Put her out of your mind._

It was easier said than done. Forget her face, form, voice, the rarest hint of her smiles? He knew, now, that when she had smiled, it had not been for him.

And when she had kissed him—

"Oh, God," he groaned. The words, though softly spoken, echoed in his empty room. He'd taken to sleeping at the castle, often, because Locksley held memories of too many broken hopes. The cold rock of the keep walls certainly matched the chilly stone he called his heart.

She might have warmed it.

He pushed away the memory of Marian's winsome features and allowed another face, far less pleasing, to form in his mind. The Sheriff's jeering voice seemed to sound in the bare chamber, the vicious whisper of a malignant ghost.

"_Women…keep them a distance, Gisborne. Think-leper._"

Lepers. Little did Vassey know how Guy had never been any good at keeping them at a distance. One corner of his mouth twisted up in a sardonic smile. His father—dead many years now—had been a leper, and he had been treated as one. Despised. Cast out. Forgotten.

Except that Guy, then no more than a boy, had not been able to bring himself to do any of these things.

He had loved his father.

He frowned. His father would not be proud of him.

_Sentimentality_, he thought, in disgust. But even so, he could not help but think how much harder it was to stop thinking of Marian, whom he had loved far more than he cared for the wraiths of the past that were all that was left of his family.

Marian. Even her name—so refined, so delicate, yet so strong. When she had looked at him, he saw himself reflected in her eyes—and the very thought that so terrible a soul as he could enter into that perfect gaze had granted him some small fragment of hope. Hope for—

_Hope for what?_

He snatched up a goblet, filled it with wine, and drained it one draft. Once again, he would attempt to dull the pain with his usual remedies.

If only his days were more interesting—if they only had some greater substance than chasing a fox in his own lair and listening to the tirades of the Sheriff—perhaps he could begin, just begin, to forget her.

Guy raked his recollection of the day's events, searching for something—anything—to occupy him. To his surprise, there was something. A snippet of a moment. Nothing at all, really, and yet-

It had been just after he returned from Sherwood, worn out with chasing Hood and his men. He had strode into the courtyard, frustrated with the impotence of his mission, and had seen a girl.

True, there was nothing inherently significant in seeing a girl—she was a maid, having a bite to eat by the door of the kitchen.

But this girl was—different. For one thing, he had not seen her before. For another, she was beautiful. Pale complexion, fine-boned features—straight nose, high cheekbones, a strong chin—and red-gold hair that fell over her slim shoulders. He hadn't been able to see the color of her eyes, from across the courtyard. But whatever color those eyes were, they had been staring straight at them with a steadfastness and near-defiance that he not seen since—

He checked the thought. She was only a servant girl. She had no right to look at him in that fearless way, in the way that Marian had. Had not the Sheriff called to him from above, he would have carried out his original plan of teaching her a lesson. At least, that was what he had intended to do. What he would have actually done, face to face with those remarkable features, he could not say.

But what did those features, that spirit, or that beauty matter anyway, except as a reminder of the one he had lost? What more was any other woman than a bandage for the wound which kept reopening?

He began to unfasten the buckles of his leather doublet, and realized that his fingers were trembling. _Damn them._

The door swung open, and a maid with a pile of fresh linen stepped in. She was no Marian, nor yet even the mysterious girl in the courtyard, but she would do. For now.

When she turned to go, he strode forward and set his arm across the door. "Stay."

She stayed, and he allowed himself to forget.

Or tried to.

**A/N: Kind of dark, I know, but Guy's at a dark place at this point. If you'd like another quick update, please review! Haha :D**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten-Rose

The stars had climbed high on their pathways through the heavens, but Rose still could not sleep. She tossed and turned, and, having been met with the weary grumbling of the other maids who shared the tight quarters, snatched up her rough blanket and slipped out into the courtyard.

It was cold; cold stone-cobbles, wall, ledges. She wrapped the blanket around herself tightly. _I'm all alone, in this horrible, barren place._

If she craned her neck, she could see the top of the battlements, solid shapes of darkness against the night sky. There was something of evil about them, as though they were hung with the banners and pennants of death.

_What a fanciful thought,_ she reproached herself, but she couldn't shake the feeling.

_The Sheriff...what sort of man is he, I wonder?_

She had heard stories of his tyranny and irrational cruelty, and while it had been easy enough to dismiss such tales in the countryside, here under the very shadows of his domain the hearsay memories filled her with dread.

_Mother...even Father...if only they were here. Or I was there._ Her eyes stung with the threat of tears.

Inwardly, she admonished herself for her weakness. _Nobody will take care of you but yourself. Keep your chin up. That's the only thing to do._

Although, on reflection, it had nearly done more harm than good today. She thought again of the man in the courtyard-what had his name been? But of course, Sir Guy-Sir Guy of Gisborne. If she kept her chin up much longer around him, her chin might end up missing its neck.

_When will you learn not to pick fights?_

_Never, probably. And why should I? _

There were plenty of answers to that why, but Rose chose to disregard most of them. As Aileen had said, Gisborne was a noble. With a temper. He was also extremely handsome, (here, Rose felt like kicking herself) but if he was brutish and cruel then she would not pay him deference (there was a foolish plan, certainly, if a principled one!). Let him be tall, proud, blue-eyed. She had no use for him. And despite what Aileen had said, she would not be afraid of him.

"Rose?"

She glanced over her shoulder to see Aileen, likewise swathed in her blanket.

_I was just thinking of you, _Rose reflected, but knew better than to say. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," Aileen shook her head. "But I awoke, and saw that your bed was empty."

Rose nodded, chasing the tears away once more. "I-I couldn't sleep."

Aileen seemed to understand. "I know. It's hard, the first few nights. But you should rest. You've a long day of work behind you-"

"-And many more ahead," Rose finished, anticipating the thought. "I know, I should sleep. But it's just..." _I miss home. I know I'll be miserable. _That was what she wanted to say, but pride, decorum, privacy-everything forbade. She set her jaw. "Here, let me ask you-you were telling me all the names of the maids, that I might know them. Run through again with me, would you be so kind? There's Ellen, Margaret, Lila, and Colette, yes?"

Aileen smiled. "That's all of them, yes."

"Somebody was missing tonight, weren't they? Lila?" Rose observed, when she had counted of her fingers to make sure she had them all in order.

Aileen's smile faded. "Yes. She's been-detained."

"Detained?" Rose laughed softly in disbelief. "From _sleeping_?"

"She's..." Aileen paused, seeming reluctant to answer. "I imagine she's with Sir Guy," she said at last.

Rose's laughter died in her throat. "You mean-"

"Yes."

Rose stiffened as revulsion rose up in her. "What? Does he think he can have his way with-are all nobles this way? Using common folk, common women, as much as they please with nobody to stop them?"

"Keep your voice down!" Aileen pleaded. "It's-well, yes, I suppose it's the way it is. And it's not so bad-so bad as you'd think. Some aren't unwilling." Her voice grew almost wistful "And to be loved for a day even, or a week-it's as much as some of us can ask."

Rose stared at her, abashed and appalled. "That's not love! How can you say so? If any man wants to win me, he'll be a gentleman, in action if not in title!" She felt proud of her declamation for a moment, and wondered if she had upset Aileen. _Speech before thought, as usual...but this is an important matter!_

Aileen twisted her fingers together. "I hope that's how it turns out for you, Rose. I truly do." She stood up shakily. "I'm sorry to leave you, but I-must sleep. I am too weary." She stumbled and caught herself against the post of the door.

"Are you alright?" Rose was at her side, taking her hand. It was cold.

"Perfectly. Just tired." Aileen tried to smile, but the attempt was far from successful.

Rose was alone again after that, gazing up at stars and battlements and feeling that no distant speck of light could be more remote, more lonely than she was now.

_Oh God, give me strength. _

But strength might not be enough-she needed something more. A way out.

_Only the first evening, and already you're trying to escape? This is your life. You can't change it._

Nor could she leave it.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven-Sherwood

Sherwood came alive at night. Much didn't like to admit it, but sometimes he felt as though the friendly eyes of squirrels and owls were...were perhaps the eyes of evil spirits, brought out by the uncanny silver glow of moonlight.

I am brave, I truly am, he told himself. Knowing one's fears is a sign of true courage.

Since it was important to protect the wellbeing of one who had such a deep understanding of true bravery, he shifted closer to the fire and pulled his cloak more tightly about him.

His watch was almost over.

"Much, are you still awake?" a whisper sounded, disembodied by the cloak by darkness .

He started with a strangled cry.

"Calm down, mate. It's just us!" That was Allan's voice.

"It's not safe to creep up on someone like that, when it's dark out. For all you know I could have killed you," Much said, very much on his dignity.

Djaq stifled a grin. "Of course."

"We want to talk," Will explained, sitting down and warming his hands by the fire. The light of the flames outlined the long callous on the inside of his palm, formed by carrying his fighting axe.

"What about?" Much was suspicious.

"What do you think?" John rumbled. "About the King's letter, o'course."

"But where are Tuck and Kate?"

"Sleeping," said Djaq. "We are the originals, and some discussions are best had among the few who have been here the longest."

"You're not, really," Allan teased. "An original, I mean."

"If anyone," said Much, raising his voice slightly, "is an original, it is me. I knew Robin before any of you sorry lot had gotten on the wrong side of the law."

"Pipe down, mate," said Allan, rolling his eyes.

"Quiet!" Djaq cast a glance back towards the camp. "We don't want to wake Robin."

"Why not?" Much stood up, stepped on a branch that was thrust into the fire, and made the coals flare up. "What is this, a conspiracy?"

Will and Allan pulled him down again. "Of course not," Will said seriously. "There's just...something we need to discuss."

Much brushed off his cloak. "Yes?"

"When I was here, tending to Marian," Djaq began earnestly, "Robin read the letter the first time." She raised a hand to their protests. "I know that we were not all together. But it couldn't wait. After Robin had read the letter, he said that someone was needed on the inside of the castle, to find out more information."

"He said the same again later," Allan put in, and the others nodded.

"So what's your point?" Much asked, still a trifle petulant. "Robin will figure out something. Someone."

"We know," said John. "It can't be Marian, of course."

"Obviously," said everyone at once.

"Here's the trouble, though," Djaq said. "Robin wants someone to get close to the Sheriff."

"Alright, but why is this so secret?"

"Because, Much, Marian wasn't close to the Sheriff. She was close to Guy. If Robin wants real information, someone has to get close to Guy. The Sheriff doesn't really trust anyone."

Much began to see the problem. "And right now, Robin wants to kill Guy, so..."

"He won't even see it as an option." Djaq's voice was earnest. "He's not thinking clearly about it. That's why we have to reason with him."

"I'm not bein' funny," put in Allan, "But the whole reason Robin's mad is because Guy near about killed Marian. So he does have a reason."

"Everyone knows that," Will reminded him..

"If we can't reason with Robin, we'll just have to find another way of getting information," John said slowly.

"Let's reason with him first," Djaq suggested. "Who will do it? Much, the real original? Will? Allan? John?"

There was a silence, and Djaq shook her head. "We'll just have to do it together, then."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve-Guy

The morning was wreathed in fog, and Guy was grateful-for once-for the weight and warmth of black leather.

_Black_. Vassey always wore it too. Not for the first time, he found himself questioning if there were some greater significance behind wearing the color of death.

_Superstition_, he decided, as he strode through the long corridors of the keep, frigid in the damp morning. That was all it was. He need pay no heed to it.

"My lord?" A guard raised a respectful salute. "The Sheriff has requested to see you."

"Of course he has," Guy muttered. Without another word, he turned towards the Sheriff's quarters, forcing himself to straighten his shoulders and appear invincible...though no amount of armor, he knew, could protect him from Vassey's poisoned barbs.

Rounding the corner, he nearly collided with a servant girl. She raised soft brown eyes to meet his.

_Aileen._

Strangely, he'd remembered her name. He didn't usually remember the names. It was easier not to.

She was clutching the bundles in her arms more tightly than she had been a moment ago, and her face had gone paler. "Guy-"

The soft note of appeal-of tentative, timid affection-in her voice stirred something in him. She had...she had been kind to him, though he would die before admitting that kindness was of any use or comfort of him. He knew now why he had remembered her name.

Guilt rose up, choking him. Angrily, he pushed it away. "It's Sir Guy, to you," he told her scornfully.

The affection in her gaze was replaced with sadness, brightened by unshed tears. "I'm sorry." She bowed her head in deference.

"Get out of my way," he growled, and with one blow of his arm he pushed her aside.

She stumbled against the wall, and his heart reached out to her though his hands did not.

She did not speak to him again, and he went on to the Sheriff's quarters, seeking more darkness to reassure him that his actions were far from the worst; that there was someone more wicked than he.

Before his eyes, in reproach, he could see Marian, telling him that she had thought that he was different...that he was a disappointment. _That_ had been a bitter moment.

_But I thought you were different too,_ he thought, addressing the vision of his mind in his mind. _I thought that you cared for me, but it was a lie. Neither of us, then, were so very virtuous._

"Gisborne!" The Sheriff's voice-loud, sharp, grating as usual, but without such an overtone of ill temper as the day before-broke into his internal debate."Gisborne, come here!"

"My lord?"

The Sheriff grinned, pausing in his game of throwing nuts at his falcon, who had absolutely no interest in them, but hopped pitifully in its cage whenever it was hit. "It still feels just-wonderful to hear 'my lord this' and 'my lord that' all the time, especially from you. If Hood was still Earl of Huntingdon, would he be so _delightfully_ deferential? A clue-"

"No," finished Guy, Sheriff's tropes grew wearisome.

"Don't cut me off, Gisborne," Vassey snapped, with a hint of irritation. "It's not polite."

"You called me here for a reason."

"Ah, yes." The Sheriff propelled himself out of his chair like a coiled spring. "Yes indeed, Gisborne! Such an exciting plan has just-sprung. Leapt. Jumped. Right into my head. Remarkable, really."

"Well?" Guy assumed his usual attitude, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall. Even in this position, he still towered over Vassey-something that afforded him a good deal of satisfaction and irritated the Sheriff to no end.

"Hood. You haven't caught him, of course. Really, Gisborne. If incompetence was a skill, you'd be a master."

It stung. A little. But the true slight was not from the Sheriff, Guy knew, but from himself. He _should_ have caught Hood by now-and not because he was an enemy of the state.

Because he had taken Marian. Because he had _won_.

"You have a plan, my lord?"

"The plan! Why yes, what do you think it is?" The Sheriff paused for effect. "Why, it's _Hood's_ plan! That's the irony of it! _Hood's_ plan!" He practically cackled with laughter.

Guy controlled himself with difficulty. "_Which_ of Hood's plans, my lord? There are many."

Vassey turned abruptly and looked at him for a long moment. Something in those shallow dark eyes, always glinting with malice, filled Guy with disgust and a sensation almost like fear. He steeled himself against such weakness.

"The Marian plan," said the Sheriff, very softly. "Hood's masterpiece."

Guy could see Marian vigorously and indignantly protesting at the idea of being nothing more than Hood's strategic masterpiece, and unintentionally, a tiny smile crept onto his face. The next minute it twisted into nothingness, and pain. "What of it?" he asked. It was better than "she" or "her." It referred to the plan, and kept him from hurting. Hurting anymore, that was.

The Sheriff pelted a few more nuts at the falcon, and one at Gisborne for good measure. "Someone on the inside. That's why we need. That's why Hood was so successful for so long. Because _someone_ always defended his dirty little spy."

"You know I take it back," Guy murmured.

The Sheriff circled him, watching him closely. "I don't think so. I think you'd take her back, if you could. However, your romantic little misadventures aside, we ought to take advantage of this. Hook succeeded because he had someone who managed to be above suspicion. Whatever the reasons."

"We already had somebody on the inside," Guy managed. His voice sounded thick, heavy.

The Sheriff wrinkled his brow. "Oh, yes. That-whatever his name was. Allan. Odious fellow. I should have hanged him. Why didn't I hang him? Clearly, I don't mean someone like _him_. I mean someone Hood would not suspect, someone who doesn't seem to have anything to gain in betraying him. Someone...perhaps, someone who needs his help? It's important, you know, at the moment. Hood needs to be weakened, and distracted. We can't have him interfering with the plan." He rubbed his hands together. "Ooh, I like this. It's _good._ Good, Gisborne. Very good. Get to work at once."

"To work?"

"Of course! Finding someone. Someone for the _inside_."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen-Rose

"You're home, Rose!" Mother's face lighted up in a smile that smoothed away the worry-lines on her forehead. Her arms opened to Rose, she ran forward, they were almost together when-

SPLASH! A wave of cold water washed over her face. Home, Mother, happiness-all vanished in an instant. Rose sat up, gasping and gulping. "What-"

"It's time for work," Cook's rough tones broke in. "We don't lie about here until noon like fine ladies, wherever you may be from, Miss."

"It's barely dawn," Rose argued, and received a sharp slap across the cheek. Stifling a cry, she rubbed the sore spot as Cook turned her bulging back and stalked off to the kitchen.

"Hard luck," said Aileen's voice beside her, sympathetically. "Here. I'll cover for you so you've five minutes to change into something dry."

"Thank you, but there's really nothing that can be done at this point to make this day a good one," Rose muttered, knowing that she was doing a poor job of stemming her rising fury. "I am wet, I have just been slapped, I have been told that noon comes six hours earlier than it actually does, and-"

"Go!" Aileen urged, laughing at her outburst. "You can change behind the wash that's hung. That's as good a screen as any. Quickly, now!"

Rose slung a fresh gown of rough, slubbed, blue linen from under her bunk and ran outside. She was frustrated-not only at the humiliating treatment she had received, but also at the sneaking feeling of guilt. Was she really viewed as a lazy, incompetent brat? Already? And furthermore, was it true?

She slipped between two hanging lines of laundry, and began to unfasten her dress. Halfway down, she paused, feeling that she was being watched. As she turned, sure enough, a guard was loitering nearby.

As if the day could get any worse, now I have to deal with a gawking oaf.

Fixing her dress, and clenching her fists, she strode towards him. "Are you looking at something?"

A lazy, insolent grin met her words. "Just doin' my job. Observing things."

She smiled coldly. "Very funny. Observe this?" Realizing that it was an entirely foolish and rash act, and not caring in the least, she swung hard and caught him firmly on the jaw with her fist.

The guard had not been expecting a blow from a girl, and he stumbled backwards, cursing.

"Keep your eyes to yourself, or I'll go for them next time!" she shouted, as he retreated, mumbling oaths beneath his breath.

As the glory of victory faded, she found herself blushing. Shouting. Rose. Really? Hardly ladylike!

It was a constant struggle, sticking up for oneself, and being a lady-

She thought of Aileen, and their conversation of the night before. Was it even possible, really, for a servant to be a lady? Glancing down at her damp dress, feeling her still-tingling cheek-it hardly seemed likely.

All the same, she wasn't sorry she'd punched the guard. He'd deserved it.

"Well done," said a voice. It was an interesting voice-flavored with a near-brogue of an accent, but well-enunciated. A noble's voice.

She turned, holding her fresh dress before her-just in case-to face a pair of sparkling, amused green eyes that did not seem to belong to a pompous, aloof noble in the least. But then, neither had his voice really.

"Who are you?" she asked curiously. The owner of the eyes was not a noble, not a guard-nor yet did he seem to belong to the castle at all. There was something...unusual about him. She scanned his face-handsome, boyish, rather roguish-and then noticed the curve of a bow beneath his brown cloak.  
"You're one of the outlaws!" She dropped her voice as she said it, careful not to attract attention. A thrill went through her, making her forget the unpleasant, clammy chill of her wet clothes. Finally! She'd seen one. At first she thought that she had expected something more-grand, but then again, she had a feeling that this man was full of surprises.

The outlaw's eyes twinkled as he nodded his assent. "My reputation precedes me."

"Oh," Rose cast him an almost-teasing glance, half-wondering whether she ought to be afraid. She decided not. "Don't say that. Everyone says it, so much that you'd think we'd never actually met anyone...just their reputations, always preceding. What a sorry world that would be!"

"Ah, I see you're of a philosophical turn of mind," chuckled the outlaw. She couldn't tell if he was impressed, but he certainly looked interested. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" she responded, not caring that it might seem impudent. After all, he was an outlaw.

"I asked first!" he protested, but the corners of his mouth quirked up.

"Yes," Rose admitted. "You did. But I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here. Are you?"

"Got me. That is true."

"Are you Robin Hood?"

"Am I?"

"I'm not going to call the guards; I'm not an fool. You'd shoot me."

His eyebrows shot up innocently. "Me? Never. I don't shoot lovely ladies. Especially not ones who can take out, quite literally, anyone who dares to disrespect them."

He was referring to the guard. "He deserved it," she told him, daring him to challenge her.

He nodded. "He did indeed. I'd have put an arrow in him myself in another moment."

Rose felt her face grow red. "Were you watching too?"

"No," he answered, and she believed him.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said.

He laughed. "I can tell."

She glanced over her shoulder, back at the kitchens where Aileen was doubtless wondering about her,and whispered, "I don't think you're very wise, revealing your whereabouts like this."

The outlaw-oh, but then why deceive herself? This was clearly the man himself-shrugged. "My whereabouts are distinguished only by their ability to change constantly. So, that's not an issue."

"But why are you talking to me?"

His green eyes regarded her, mischief flickering in their depths. "I'm looking for someone."

"Me?" Rose was confused, and she wasn't fond of being confused.

"I'm not sure yet. Perhaps. Should I be looking for you?"

Cook's bellowing sounded in the kitchen, and Rose sighed. "I'm just a servant girl." The words tasted sour in her mouth.

Robin Hood-she had not a doubt now that it was he-looked almost gravely at her...or at least, as gravely as she had yet seen him. "I can tell you're much more than that."

She wanted to believe him-quite desperately, but without really knowing why. Cook's voice was closer now, and angrier, and she turned to glance back.

When she looked back to reply to the mysterious outlaw, he was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen-Sherwood

"Where did you go, Robin?"

"To the castle."

The gang surveyed him in disbelief. "Alone?" Kate asked, looking up from the arrows she was busily fledging. "What about us?"

Robin smiled at their disappointed faces. "It was an only an...investigative errand."

"What were you investigating?" Much demanded.

"Our connection. To the inside. Just preliminary sort of digging about." Robin looked thoughtful. "Met a servant girl."

"Was she pretty?" said Allan.

"Yes, very." Robin grinned, and turned to Marian. "No worries, my love." He looked back at Allan. "But not the kind who would brook any...let's just say, Allan, you're a bit too much of a-"

"Scoundrel," broke in Much. "I'm sorry, but it's just the plain truth."

Allan elbowed him. "Alright now, alright! I've given up my old ways. Mostly."

"Robin," Djaq put in firmly, "There is something we need to talk with you about."

"So serious!" Robin raised his hands helplessly. "It's hardly mid-morning."

"It is serious," Djaq told him. "It is about the inside spy you say we need."

Robin's smile faded into an expression of earnest interest. "Tell me."

"You won't want to hear it, mate," Allan interjected carefully. John laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let Djaq talk."

Djaq scraped her knifeblade against the edge of a log. She took a breath. "Robin, we know that you will not like this. But you must accept the fact, if we are to have someone get close to the Sheriff, it must be through Gisborne."

"No." In a moment, Robin's good humor was replaced with a grim expression and a tense jaw.

Much threw up his hands. "I knew it would be like this. I just knew it."

Marian sighed.

"Robin," Will said slowly, "It...it's worked before."

Robin turned on him. "Yes, very well indeed-and remember how that ended? Marian was almost killed! I wouldn't put any of you-"

"Robin, the Sheriff is worse than Guy," Marian said softly. "If you want a spy, they'll be safer-"

"That has nothing to do with it." Robin clenched his fingers around the curve of his bow. "There won't be a Gisborne to get close to, if I get to him first. And I will."

"Robin-you're not going to kill him!" There was something slightly too urgent in Marian's tone, at least for Robin's taste.

"Do you still hold out hope for him? Marian, he's a killer. A traitor. He's all evil." Robin's eyes flickered with rising anger as the rest sat in silence, waiting for his outburst to pass. "I won't have it!" He paced back and forth restlessly. "I will kill Gisborne, the first chance I get. We'll find another way!"

"Robin." It was Tuck who had spoken. His dark eyes were grave. "You must listen to reason, my friend. Everyone here perfectly understands the nature of your deep animosity with Gisborne. But that does not change the facts. Djaq is right. Getting close to the Sheriff means getting close to Gisborne. Killing him will ruin that chance."

Robin ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. Then he paused. "Alright. I won't kill him-yet. I just don't know. Is it even right-to ask anyone to take such a risk?"

For a few moments, the only sounds that filled the forest were the crackling of the fire and sound of the wind dancing through the treetops. "We all take risks for you, Robin," Kate said earnestly. "We wouldn't force anyone to serve with us. It's a choice."

"Everything's a choice," Marian put in quietly. Her voice was calm, but her hands were pressed tightly over her abdomen. "Robin, I know you're not ready to hear this at the moment, but I was making a choice at every step of the way."

Robin's brows drew together in frustration, but he did not speak for a few moments. At last he said, "I need to think." His voice was abrupt, but the others could tell that he had calmed down. He strode off quickly into the forest.

"He'll come round," John said, poking at the coals with the tip of his staff.

"Of course he will," Marian breathed. She leaned back and tried to hold back a groan. Djaq and Kate were at her side in a moment. "Are you worse?" Djaq asked, looking worried.

Marian shifted, her dark hair falling in a river over the pillow. "No-it's just...there's a new kind of pain."

Djaq's mouth tightened in a grim line. "I will try to find some new herbs. I thought the wound was healing well."

"I think it is," Marian said, looking puzzled. "As I said, it's something different."

"He's such a changeable bloke sometimes." Allan shook his head. "The trouble is, if Robin's divided-"

"Robin will make the best decision," Much argued. "He always does. He will come round."

"I just said that," growled John.

Relative silence fell on the camp after that, with once more only the sounds of fire and forest to interrupt the contemplative quiet.

It had not been very many moments, but it seemed like hours before they heard the quick, light footstep that heralded the return of Robin.

Everyone turned. The suspense among the company seemed to echo in the fitful little breeze that suddenly ran through the treetops.

Robin faced them for a moment-serious, pensive, even grim. They waited, and watched, and suddenly a smile broke out over his face. "Alright, lads-and ladies. I've decided to see reason. At least for the moment." He strode forward, snatched up an arrow, and energetically began to draw in the dust surrounding the campfire. "First, someone needs to go to Kirklees and speak to the Abbot about the King's message. That's me. Someone-Tuck, Djaq, Will, Much-needs to go to the castle, scout out what the Sheriff knows about Prince John's plans. Clearly, he knows something-he's sending gold. After that, we meet back here plan from there."

"What about the spy?" asked Much, a trifle reluctantly. No one could be certain if it were still a touchy subject or not.

"That's the third part," Robin said, his voice surprisingly level. "For now, we can't know what they would actually be spying on, but it's never too early to find out who our allies are. As I said before, I've got an inkling of an idea already. Allan, since you were so eager, you can start making inquiries about a new servant girl in the castle kitchens."

Allan's eyebrows lifted. "More like it! What's her name?"

Robin smiled slightly, seeming to remember something. "She wouldn't tell me."

**A/N: This chapter was tough to write, so any feedback would be much appreciated! :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks to my faithful reviewers: ThefadingdaysofMay, MeMane15, UKReader, and nick!**

**Your support is MUCH appreciated. Thanks to everybody else who's been reading, too! This is another Guy chapter...very dark, I hope it doesn't make everyone hate him!**

**Please Read and Review, as always! :)**

**~TolkienGirl**

Chapter Fifteen-Guy

Afternoon was fading to evening, and Guy could see shafts of dim golden light slipping through the castle windows, dancing upon the long table top where the remains of a meal were being picked over by the Sheriff.

Guy had finished eating some time ago, and now he stood, letting the borrowed sunlight fall on his face-imagining himself on his horse, galloping far away from Nottingham, feeling the rush of the wind, with Marian-

But no, instead, he was here. Imprisoned. Held captive by the walls, by the voice of the Sheriff, and by his own thoughts.

He folded his arms, leather against leather, and listened to Vassey's taunts.

"You're so quiet this evening, Gisborne. Cat got your tongue?" He laughed, and then grimaced. "I've never liked cats. You know why? Sly creatures. Nasty things. Always looking so clever and smug and-ugh. Birds are better." His eyes glinted. "So small. Fragile. Breakable." He waved his fork. "Don't be a bird, Gisborne. And don't be a cat, either."

"Then what should I be, my lord?" Every day, he reflected, it was harder to hide his disgust and frustration from Vassey.

"Be a dog-stupid, obedient, and always slobbering to do my will." Vassey drained his goblet of wine, gurgling with laughter. "Yes, Gisborne. You're a dog. Haha! Sit! Speak! Stay!" His mood changed. "But you haven't been a good doggie of late. No, Gisborne, not you. You're supposed to catch a fox. _And_-you haven't. You promised you'd find me a spy, someone to send to Hood. A whole day's gone by! Where is the spy?"

Guy swallowed his humiliation and rising temper with difficulty. "My lord, it takes time. I'm sure you'd agree that we need someone loyal. Someone who won't try to doublecross us."

"Ah yes. Don't want another Marian, do we?" The Sheriff grinned, licking his diamond-studded tooth pensively. "Alright, Gisborne. I'm listening. You seem to have an idea in your _doggie_ mind."

"We have to draw Hood out," Guy explained, exerting every filament of self-control to keep himself from pinning his throwing dagger between the Sheriff's eyes. "If we can get him to come to the Castle, we can test the loyalties of those here."

"La-de-da-de-_dah_," drawled Vassey. "Boring. Hood's come to the Castle a thousand times, and EVERY TIME"-his voice rose to a scream, and Guy started. "Every time, Gisborne, he's gotten the better of us." He paused, and his eyes glittered with unholy pleasure. "So this time...we'll be the ones making a diversion."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how it's always been-_annoying_, with Hood's camp being so changeful. He's so sporadic. So unpredictable. They come to the castle, all of them, and if we find the camp while they're gone-La de da. We burn some food. They make another camp. The camp's never_ mattered_ before." He cackled. "But now-"

Gisborne felt a chill run over him. Vassey was excited-that could only mean that he had hit on something almost unfathomably, brilliantly evil. "But now, my lord?"

"Marian! _Marian_, Gisborne-your little leper friend of so long ago. Last time you saw her, you ran a sword right through her. Takes a while to recover from, don't you think?"

Guy nodded. He couldn't speak. All he could see was Marian all over again, pierced through. Red life's blood, staining her white dress.

His sin, tearing her apart.

Her voice, fading away. _"Guy..."_

The Sheriff rubbed his hands together. "So now, we'll draw Hood out. Like always, a chest of gold. Something. Whatever. Then, we'll send a contingent of guards to the forest. One of Hood's men will bring him word-or something-they always find out-and Hood will panic and run out, forgetting reason and cunning and all those disgusting vices that are only virtues in _me._ Then, Gisborne. Two birds in one stone. We'll stop Hood from getting back to his leper, and the guards will take care of _her_." He stopped, catching sight of Guy's expression. "Oh, Gizzie...what now. Surely you're not still lovestruck. She betrayed you. You should go along yourself-_finish the deed_."

"Excuse me, I beg leave to go." He couldn't bear it any longer.

The Sheriff eyed him for a long moment, and then seemed to make a decision. "Yes, go-go. Think on your loyalties, Gisborne. I'm gleeful tonight-gleeful enough to let you sleep on it. But tomorrow-I don't want even a smidgen, even the eensiest _bit_ of doubt about where you stand." He winked. "Clear?"

"Yes, my lord."

He strode out, with the Sheriff's laughter following him and nipping at his heels.

_Marian...you've betrayed her. Again._

_"Finish the deed..."_

His throat constricted at the thought. He would slice Hood into a thousand pieces, but he would never hurt Marian-he could not risk it all again-

_If you don't kill her, the Sheriff will know you to be disloyal._

He ran a hand over his face, feeling exhausted. Weariness, anguish, guilt-it was hardly the best combination.

He pushed open the door of his quarters, grateful for the small mercy of being alone.

"Sir Guy?"

He cursed, startled. "Who is it?"

From the shadows, a thin, familiar figure slipped forward. Brown hair, brown eyes, a rough dress hanging about her small frame. Aileen.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, catching her wrist in his fingers and twisting it. There was something about her gasp of pain that almost satisfied him...it reminded him that he was not the only one hurting in the world. "I told you to keep out of my way."

"I know," she whispered. There were tears gathering in her eyes, but she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling.

"Then why are you here?" He dropped his voice, low, menacing.

"There's something you need to know."

"What? I will have you strung up from the battlements if you think you can waste my time."

He felt her shaking, but he did not let go of her wrist. "Guy-I mean, Sir Guy-there...there's..."

"There's _what?_" He saw her hand-the one he wasn't tormenting-move to her stomach, almost protectively. There was a slight bulge, noticeable because of her thinness.

And he knew. He knew, before she even said it. "There's a baby," her voice was choked. "I'm pregnant."

The words hit hard, even though he had been expecting them. WIth a final twist, he dropped her wrist. Aileen stumbled back, holding her wrist, and an unbidden tear slipped down her cheek. "How can you be sure it's mine?"

"You're the only one," she whispered.

"I find that hard to believe," he snarled, aware that it was a cruel-and false-accusation.

"I...I can't..."

"You can't what?" He raised his voice, but there was more pain than anger in it, despite his best efforts to hide his feelings. "What do you expect me to do? Marry _you_?"

She shook her head, sobbing now. "No! I just-my family's poor, they can't afford to help me, and they'll throw me out anyway...it's such a disgrace...please, you have to help me! Help our baby!"

Her plea brought back to him the words of another girl, not too different from her. Annie. Brown hair, too-the same sweet smile and fragile spirit. He had not helped her. He had left their son in the woods...left him to die. _Monster that you are._ Hood had saved Annie, and-and Seth. That had been the baby's name. His son. His firstborn.

_Hood. He might save Aileen too-_

Guy recoiled from the thought, disgusted. Hood, always the hero. Always showing the contrast between him and Guy so decisively. That was how he'd won Marian.

He turned back to Aileen, filled with a rage now that had nothing to do with her. "Get out of my sight."

He saw despair fall over her face. "But-"

"Go. And speak to no one of this."

"Everyone will know soon enough, Guy."

"That is not my concern. Leave me. If you ever come across my path again, begging and grovelling like this-I _will_ have you punished. Severely."

She went, crying.

He closed the door behind her and threw himself on his bed. What he would have given to quiet his mind-to forget Aileen, Hood, Marian, all of it...but it was all in vain. His own words came back to haunt him, what he said to Aileen those months ago...

_"I've never had anyone care for me before, not this way-and I'm afraid it won't last,"_ she had said, and he had kissed her. _"It will last. I won't leave you alone."_

Lies, all of it. He'd known it at the time, too. But the reason he lied wasn't so very cruel-it was only that, if he said it...if he acted as though he meant it...he always hoped that he might be able to find a way to believe it too.

_And now you leave her alone...with child._

Why did there have to be a child? The thought of a son or daughter could only fill him with dread, not with joy or with hope. He could not marry Aileen-she was only a servant girl-and nor did he wish to.

_"Please, you have to help me!"_

He did not have to marry her to help her-money, a safe passage to an Abbey, a place for their child...just as he had promised Annie. Just as he had not done.

He hadn't promised Aileen, because if he had, he wouldn't have kept it. _I didn't lie._

But he had already lied. He had already hurt her, even though every twist of her wrist had not really satisfied him-it had hurt him as much as it hurt her.

_It doesn't make you a better man. Every lie, every moment of cowardice, every act of cruelty-you can't escape them._ There was no one to see through him, see that he wasn't a monster, not really. Not inside.

_That doesn't matter. That can't save you._ He'd burn in Hell for what he had done.

Thinking on it, he found he didn't care. After all, the flames were already all about him.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen-Rose

It was before dawn, and Rose rolled silently out of her bunk, slipping her feet into her worn shoes. She had slept fitfully, determined to rise before Cook woke her. The plan had worked a little too well-the castle was silent, still asleep.

_Go back to bed!_ one part of her urged, but she already knew that there would be no more sleep for her.

_I could go exploring..._

Ah, now there was an interesting idea. She had always been something of an incorrigible adventurer-as a child, she had always been scrambling over stone walls and scaling the neighbors' thatched roofs. She rubbed her shoulder reminiscently, remembering a tumble she'd taken one day.

_You're thinking on all the things that went wrong when you went prying where you oughtn't, and now you're thinking of doing it _here_? It's ten times more dangerous!_

Carefully making sure nobody was around, she slipped on the slubbed linen dress she had meant to wear yesterday, ran a hasty hand through her tangled hair, and tiptoed out of the servants' quarters.

The door that led out of the kitchen creaked a bit, but nobody came shouting, and so Rose managed to make her way up into the windowed hallway that ran along the courtyard, towards the main keep. She tilted her chin up, gazing at the stonework of the ceiling and walls, intrigued by their grand austerity.

_I'm just the simple peasant lass, who's never been in a castle before..._

She rounded the corner, and stopped short.

In the pale shadows of early morning, by one of the courtyard windows, the same black-clad figure that had ridden proudly into the courtyard that first afternoon was standing silently.

_Sir Guy of Gisborne._

Rose's breath caught in her throat as she tried to quiet the rapid beating of her heart. She had a feeling that, if he detected her, things would not go well.

_Turn-go back-he hasn't seen you-_

She meant to do all those things, to slip away unseen by this other early riser. But something made her stay. She found herself fascinated by his face once more, much closer now.

_He is not so proud as I thought_...the man standing before, with arms folded across his chest, and his chin resting on one leather-gloved fist...this man did not look bold and arrogant.

He looks so tired. So lonely. So sad.

She was surprised. Aileen's conflicting stories and the whispers that she had already suggested that this man was a heartless brute, feared almost as much as the Sheriff, and if Aileen was right, he was hardly honorable.

_Yet perhaps Aileen was right about something else. Perhaps there is another side to him._

The blue eyes, so piercing when she had last seen them were cast down now, and though she was not close enough to read his gaze, there was something so profoundly weary in his whole attitude, so defeated, that pity replaced her former defiance towards him.

_Poor man. It cannot be a happy lot, being evil._

He stirred, with a deep sigh, and Rose came back to her senses. Feeling as though she had stumbled on something not meant for her to see, but not wholly regretting it, she turned and ran as fast as she could back to the kitchen.

Cook was more amenable this morning, and when the breakfast was work was done Rose and Aileen were given the relatively pleasant task of hanging the wash.

Rose gripped the basket, noticing that there were little hard spots forming on her palms and fingers. They hurt now, but when she had done a few more days of labor they would become callouses and serve as barriers instead of blisters.

"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" she said conversationally, trying to get her mind off the enigmatic figure in the hallway. The sun was shining brightly, and the birds had begun to sing, but Aileen did not agree to her question.

"Are you-" she turned and looked at her new friend's face, concerned. What she saw there made her pause, the basket dropped and forgotten at her feet. "Aileen, something is wrong. What is it?"

Aileen cast a glance back at the kitchen. "But-"

"Cook is out talking to the butcher. We have a few minutes. Tell me!"

They sunk down on the battered, brown grass together.

In a tearful whisper, Aileen gave an account of the previous evening's events. Rose listened, feeling goosebumps prickle her arms at the shock of it.

"He hurt you?" Gently, she tugged at Aileen's wrist, examining the bruise.

"It's nothing," Aileen shook her head. "He was...upset."

"He was a brute!" Rose exclaimed, and Aileen hushed her. She chewed her lip. It was...it was strange, and almost-disappointing, trying to reconcile this seeming madman of Aileen's story with the man she had seen this morning. She did not know why, but she had-she had wanted to think better of him.

_Don't be foolish and romantic and nonsensical. Think of Aileen._ "So, the baby," she said, and then wished she hadn't.

Aileen started to cry. "I don't know what I'll do."

Rose racked her brains for a solution. For some reason, the only thought that kept popping into her head included the roguish face of the outlaw she had met the morning before. Robin Hood. Wasn't he known for doing good for others, especially the poor?

_Too dangerous_, she told herself, but the memory of his arresting gaze and teasing smile wouldn't leave her alone. "We'll find a way," she murmured at last, catching up a clean rag from the laundry basket and binding Aileen's wrist with it. "I know that it may not be easy, but try to see it as a good. You have a child of your own!"

Aileen nodded. "I just thought-" she looked off into the distance. "I wanted the father of my children to love them. And me."

Rose sighed. She hadn't had experience in dealing with such problems before, and she had a feeling that she was doing a very poor job of it. "You said he wasn't all bad, not really," she suggested carefully. "He may come around. Don't give up hope."

Aileen smiled, a small, twisted smile. "Hope. Rose, I don't have any left. I'm not like you. I wish I was. You haven't seen what I've seen in life."

Rose took a deep breath. "No, I haven't. And...maybe I don't know anything. But I am stubborn, and that is good, for it means that I always keep my word. I _promise_ that I will help you. You've been kind to me, and you don't deserve to be treated like this.

"Maybe I do," Aileen whispered. "After all, I should have-"

"It wasn't your fault," Rose told her firmly. "None of it. Now, listen to me. You must trust me. Alright? I don't want you to worry anymore."

Aileen nodded obediently, looking very childlike. Inside, they could hear Cook bellowing again. Rose picked up the basket. "Come along now."

As they began to hang the wash, a fragment of conversation flew back to her.

_"I'm looking for someone."_

_"Me?"_

_"I'm not sure yet. Perhaps. Should I be looking for you?"_

_Probably not_, she thought. _But I will be looking for you, Robin Hood._


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Lighter and fluffier, as a reprieve from angst ;)**

Chapter Seventeen-Sherwood

"Are you already leaving, love?"

Robin paused in fastening the ties on his leather vest and smiled at Marian, who had raised her head from the pillow restlessly. The night was old-faint touches of rose were beginning to touch the horizon, and the birds of Sherwood were already awakening.

"I'm afraid I must. The Sheriff waits for no one." Robin sighed wearily. "So, to Kirklees it is, as early as possible."

Marian caught his hand in hers, twining her slender fingers between his, long-roughened by the shafts of arrows and the string of his bow. "I understand. And I thank you, true Lord of Locksley, for your rationality yesterday. It is not easy for you, I know. But you _have_ grown up." She grinned teasingly at him.

Robin bent down and kissed her forehead. "Not so much as you'd like. I've done my best, Marian. But you know that I cannot let Gisborne's crime go unpunished, no matter our other missions."

"I know."

"But you wish I would."

"I wish you could see him as a man, not a monster." Marian's smile was sad. "Perhaps it is too much to ask, for now."

Robin's brows drew together in one of his usual expressions-a look that expressed both concern and yet unwavering stubbornness. "Perhaps." He slung his bow over his shoulder and tucked a few more arrows in his quiver. "I'm off, with half of Much's leg of mutton. Break it to him gently." He winked, tucking a few more items that did not rightfully belong to him into a small knapsack.

Marian started. "Wait, Robin! There's something more-something you should know...before the others."

"What?" He knelt down beside her, worried. "Is the wound worse?"

Marian shook her head, smiling. "That's what I thought at first," she explained. "But then..." she paused, blushing a little, and then continued. "...I...I figured it out. Robin, I'm-I'm expecting."

The pale morning sunshine seemed to grow brighter. Robin's whole face lighted up. "A little Locksley! Darling, this is too good to be true!" Without another word, he took his wife's face between his hands and kissed her.

"Shhh, we'll wake the others!" Marian chided, giggling. "But isn't it wonderful? A child of our own!"

Robin raised his eyebrows innocently. "Quite the mystery. How did this happen, exactly?"

She rolled her eyes. "Robin, really."

"I'm teasing," he whispered, catching up her hands in his and kissing them too. "Wake the others-they should know."

"Much will be godfather?" she asked, and laughed softly. "But that isn't really a question, is it?"

"Much will be godfather," he affirmed. "No, it isn't."

They smiled together for a moment, but then Marian's voice grew worried. "Robin-you know that this is joyful, but it's also...it's dangerous. I do not know if we can keep a child safe in the forest."

Robin chewed his lip thoughtfully. "It is dangerous," he agreed quietly. "But so, Marian, is everything we do."

She nodded. "You are right. And perhaps he will take after his father, and be brave."

"After his father?" Robin was surprised. "Not so, I think. His mother is the bravest woman I know."

Marian laughed again. "Stop with your flattery, and wake the others!"


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen-Guy

When he had finally slept, he had dreamed of Marian. A guilty conscience wielded nightmares as weapons.

He had risen early, unable to push her insistent voice and reproachful looks from his mind.

_It's only a dream. It wasn't really her,_ Guy told himself, almost desperately. It didn't help-he knew very well that the real Marian would have reacted with the same repulsion, the same cold admonitions as the one in his dream had.

_And she would have been right._

It was for the best, then, that he'd given up on doing what was right long ago.

_Is it? Have I?_

He pushed the questions away, but he still couldn't rid himself of Marian. Perhaps he was a fool to be standing by this window, gazing down towards the tree that grew in the courtyard, under which they had both stood one day, when she had appealed to his "better" side, as she always did. She had placed her delicate hand on his shoulder, then, and he remembered the curve of her graceful fingers.

He knew, now, of course, that the earnestness in her looks that day-just as on all the other days-had not been for him, but for Hood and Hood's plans.

_Why should I care about her admonitions at all? They were only a way to mold me into someone-something-that could be used._ It was a bitter thought, and one that he had been acting on ever since the return from the Holy Land. Marian had tried to make him good-it had been a lie-and now, not caring if it were evil or even childish (better the former than the latter, certainly), he had turned his hurt pride and torn heart towards the goal of doing everything that she would particularly despise, doing his best to replace the guilt that haunted and defined him with callousness. With cruelty. With everything from which she had once given him hope for escape.

Now, despite all his efforts, the guilt still lingered.

_"Help her. Help your child,"_ said Marian's voice, in his head, and unable to rouse again his anger and disgust as he had last night, he sighed and gave into the thought.

_Help her. Help Aileen._ It was tricky-how ought it to be done, without straining his resources or damaging his reputation? Selfish considerations, he knew, but at least he was entertaining the thought of helping her.

Perhaps he'd do something, eventually, once the anger and shame had worn away. Buy her something. Placate her pain with money.

_"All women can be bought,"_ Vassey had said.

It wasn't true. It hadn't been true with Marian, certainly, and he doubted that it was true even with Aileen.

And yet, they were so different-and he had treated them so differently.

_Marian was not afraid of me._

Even more so, Marian had often defied him-mostly covertly, true, but she did not fear him, even in his rages...as had been so painfully proven in the Holy Land.

_Yet if Aileen tried to speak to you in that way, you would have her executed on a whim._ It was true, but puzzling. He pushed away dissent and rebellion, just as the Sheriff did, calling it treason and revolution and punishing such crimes to the fullest extent of the law. For the first time, he wondered if he were rejecting his own salvation every time he did so.

_Someone who isn't afraid...admit it-admit that you fear that more than anything else_. The trouble, of course, with people who did not fear him was that they could see into him, exposing everything-all the memories and pain and doubts-that he did not want to be seen.

But-wounds had to be cleaned before they could heal.

He felt the warmth of the rising sun on his face, and for a moment, he almost believed that it was possible...that for all of it...he could change-that the man he had been last night was not the man he had to be.

And then the Sheriff's voice sounded, commanding, mocking, reminding him of who he was, and what he had done. _You're a fool to think you can change._

He turned his back on the light and stalked towards the darkness of his day and duties.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Sorry I've been slower with updating! This chapter is longer to make up for it. :)**

Chapter Nineteen-Rose

Of course, Rose reflected, as soon as you wanted someone to come along, they didn't.

Almost two days had passed.

Robin had not come today-nor had he yesterday- and she found herself half-wondering if those sparkling, humorous eyes had been a mere figment of her imagination.

_I wonder if he is married_, she mused, and then blushed at the thought. Surely, he had been handsome, but if every handsome man she met would tempt her fancy so quickly and severely, she would be in a _very_ sorry way.

_He's an outlaw anyway._

She was not sure how she felt about that. To be sure, lawlessness was not something she condoned, generally. But the stories of Robin Hood were different. He robbed the rich and gave to the poor, defied the cruelty of the Sheriff and looked out for the vulnerable.

_Is the Sheriff really cruel, though?_ Rose did not like to leap to conclusions (though she often did), but if his righthand man were any indicator, he was not exactly a paragon of virtue. Moreover, she'd heard rumors...terrible rumors...of the things he had done.

_It seems too much to think, though, that he would cut out tongues...hang children...hold a Festival of Pain. Surely those must be old wives' tales._

It would be easier (and probably safer) to think ill of the mysterious Robin Hood, and decide that he was the one who should be feared. But not only had her experiences at the Castle thus far filled her with misgivings, there had also been something compelling beneath the outlaw's mischievous, disarming demeanor. He was a man who fought for a cause, and even in the few moments she had spent with him, she had gotten the feeling that it was a good one.

"Rose!" A voice beside her made her jump, and she thanked all the saints that it wasn't Cook, ready with a ladle. She'd been smacked in the ear with it yesterday, and it had taken half her water ration to wash the crusted gravy out of her hair. _Vile, disgusting habit...and woman,_ she thought angrily, turning.

It wasn't Cook, of course, but it wasn't Aileen either-rather, it was Lila. Though they'd known each other for little less than a week, something rather less than friendliness had already grown between them.

"I'm almost done," she said defensively. "So if you're spying for Cook you've nothing to show for it." _Probably not the most diplomatic thing to say..._

Lila's pretty, pointed, vixenish face twisted in up in something that couldn't quite manage to be a smile. "My, my, who's spying? I just came over to say hello."

Rose straightened up from her weeding and planting-apparently Nottingham just _had_ to have turnips-and brushed her dusty hands against her apron. "And?" There was clearly more of a motive than an amiable greeting on Lila's part.

Lila plucked up a weed, examined it, and tossed it away carelessly. "I've noticed you're all friendly with Aileen. Quite the bleeding heart, she is."

Rose stiffened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Lila's eyebrows arched. "Oh, you know. She's quite sweet when you first meet her, all comforting and nice-and then before you know it she's dumping all her troubles on you, asking for favors, and warning you not to follow her sad path."

Rose felt her temper flaring up, warming her cheeks. "Lovely of you to share. Has it ever occurred to you that she might not be making it up?"

Lila shrugged. "Of course. There's the baby, for one thing. I suppose she's not making _that_ up."

"The baby?" Rose gasped. She hadn't told a soul, and she couldn't imagine that Aileen had either-

"How did I know?" Lila asked, mimicking Rose's expression of shock. "Darling, have you seen her? She's showing. You didn't think she'd been making private feasts, did you?"

Rose blushed. "No."

"The only question is," Lila mused, deliberately stepping on Rose's weeded rows- "who's the father? Poor blighter. Could be anyone."

"No, it couldn't," Rose argued hotly, and then realized she shouldn't have. What Aileen had told her about Sir Guy had been in confidence.

Lila's head snapped round, looking sharply at her. "Oh, you have an idea, have you?"

Rose decided it would be best to play dumb, but the answer must have been written on her face. _Hang expressive faces!_

"Oh," Lila laughed. "I see. Of _course._ Trying to catch up on kitchen gossip, are we? Well let me tell you, you rustic little peasant, you've got to get your facts straight. Aileen could never have gotten that high. It's only a rumor she's spreading, trying to bring her sorry self up in the world."

"Is that so?" Rose inquired, calmly, despite her gritted teeth. She also couldn't help noticing the slight quaver of uncertainty in Lila's tone.

"Yes, it is. We've all got to know our stations. It doesn't do for just anyone to try to_ step up in ranks_, if you know what I mean." She gave Rose a significant glance.

"So why are you telling me this?" Rose retorted, folding her arms. Her fists were clenching, and she could already feel Lila's face against her knuckles, but she tried to control herself.

Lila's pale eyes gleamed. "Why, you're the new girl. I'm doing you a favor, letting you know where everything stands."

Suddenly, Rose knew exactly how to get her back. "If we're speaking plainly, why don't I just say it?"

"Say what?"

"You're trying to warn me off the famous Sir Guy, afraid I'll be in next week and you'll be out," she said, very sweetly.

Lila's face flushed with fury and something else. "You little-" before she even finished, her fist had swung up, very nearly making contact with Rose's nose.

Rose was quick-having brothers gave one an advantage in the matter of fisticuffs. She caught Lila's wrist and pushed her off balance, sending her rolling over the poor turnip beds in a way which would surely have hastened Cook's demise if she had only seen it.

When Lila, spouting some choice words, had scrambled to her feet and come back, Rose was ready for her, and they might very well have destroyed some more potential produce had not the same sight stopped them both.

Beyond the kitchen gardens, along the stone causeway, a silhouette of black horse and black-clad rider was paused. Rose froze, taking it in, watching something between a smirk and sneer slip over the coldly handsome face, one eyebrow arching loftily.

_Speak of the devil..._

Time seemed to cease for a second, and then the devil flicked his reins and rode on.

"Go," said Rose, and Lila went. Rose meant to go too, but she couldn't, not yet, not while her hands were shaking. _Is this fear,_ she thought, half-curiously._ Perhaps it's only shock. That was...unexpected._

"You're lucky he didn't overhear you," Aileen's voice said, close by, and Rose was surprised once more as the lines of laundry parted and her friend's tired, faintly amused and perennially sad eyes met hers.

"I-you heard, though..."

Aileen nodded.

"All of it?"

Another nod.

Rose swallowed. "I...I am sorry if I said anything amiss. About you." She tried to remember if she had.

Aileen pressed a hand to her arm with a shy smile. She was showing, Rose noticed-she wondered why she hadn't seen before. "I'm used to hearing gossip, Rose. You were kind to defend me."

"_She is insufferable_," Rose cried, annoyed that her hands were still trembling. What was it about that man?

"She is a poor, sad girl," Aileen replied softly. "Pity her, Rose. Don't hate her."

The words cooled her fury as surely as one of Cook's surprise wake-up baths. "I suppose I did speak too hastily," she admitted. "I-I did not mean that_ I_ wished to be in her position. And I ought not to have taunted her." She shuddered. "You are right. She is to be pitied." Embarrassed, she tried to straighten out the turnip beds, which were in sad disarray.

"Rose, I must speak to you about something," Aileen's tone was suddenly urgent. "It is for your own good."

"What have I done now?" Rose asked, only half-joking.

"Nothing...serious. But I tried to warn you that first day-Rose, it is not right to...you are too forward before Sir Guy."

"Forward!" Rose put her hands on her hips indignantly, soiling the bodice of her dress. "I have not been-well, fighting is not ladylike, I suppose. But-"

"I don't mean it like that," Aileen explained pleadingly. "I mean that, if you continue to meet his eyes in such a bold way-show what some may see as defiance-" She pressed her lips together and Rose saw, with a pang, that her wrist was still swollen. "I should hate to see him hurt you...use you."

Rose nudged a turnip seedling back into place with her foot. "I understand," she said. Understanding, as usual, wasn't the problem. Following prudent advice-that was something else entirely. "It's just, I will not be choked by fear. I can't bear the thought of a man, however powerful, exerting his willpower over me because I am afraid of him. I just-I _won't_ be."

"That will not end well for you," Aileen warned.

Rose's voice raised a bit. "What is the alternative? Living in fear? Doing their bidding, even to loss of freedom, dignity, virtue? How well has that ended for _you_?" She was sorry for the words as soon as they were spoken.

Aileen's lips twisted as though she were holding back tears. "Not well," she whispered. As though a heavy burden had been placed on her shoulders, she turned and went back inside.

Left alone, Rose sunk down and poured out her troubles to what was left of the turnips. Her thoughts were more tumbled than freshly-tilled soil. Aileen and Lila-so different, yet caught up in an equally pitiable plight...a plight caused by a devil on a black horse.

_But he is really a devil?_

Again she saw him, shrouded in his soul's shadow despite the morning light. It had been a few days now, but it felt like a moment ago-so clear was it in her mind.

A tragedy, perhaps, but not a demon.

_Not evil...only sad._

_I know there is good in him,_ she thought, and in the same moment was cursing him roundly for (what she had heard to be) his outrageously wrongful behavior.

_What a mystery...is it possible to be caught halfway between heaven and hell?_

_Of course,_ she thought. _That's earth. That's here._


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Sorry for a late update!**

Chapter Twenty-Sherwood

"I still can't...I mean, a_ baby_?" Much's voice was shrill with disbelief, even though they had been discussing it for a day and a half.

Marian's lips quirked up into a smile. Try as she might, she could never be _really_ annoyed by Much, as much as she pretended to be. "Yes, Much." The congratulations had died down for a moment-the outlaws of Sherwood were nothing if not persistent-but they had been effusive. Marian only wished Robin had been present to hear more of them, but, alas, he had had to leave shortly after the announcement...running laughingly off down the Sherwood road as his cheering company chased after him.

"But..." Much seemed at a loss for words. "A baby. How-_how_ did this happen?"

There was muffled laughter. "_Much_," everyone groaned at once.

Much was flustered. "Well-I know, I know _that_ of course. I just mean-we're all together, all the time, same quarters-" He shook his head. "I'll stop talking now."

"Good idea, mate," Allan jibed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Well now, Marian, who's to be the Godfather? Seems like a prime job for-"

"Much," Marian interrupted sweetly. "Robin and I have already decided."

Much, his previous questions forgotten, turned pink with pleasure. "I-I-you mean me? Much? Former servant? I mean, I was supposed to be Earl of Bonnechurch, but now that I'm an outlaw, I can't offer the child much of a legacy..."

Marian laid a hand on his arm. "It's alright. Robin and I know who you are, Much. We wouldn't want anyone else."

"Oh." Much paused, his eyes fluttering open and shut as he tried to fully fathom the magnitude of it. "Then I thank you," he said gravely, at last.

"_No one else_?" complained Allan, looking hurt. "Blimey, but that seems a bit...harsh."

Djaq elbowed him. "Shut up. I am no expert in Christian ways, but I hear that your Godparents ought to be honest. Upstanding."

A ripple of laughter went round the group and Allan feigned hurt. "Well now that's pretty nice! Are you saying I've ever been less than honest and upstanding?"

"Exactly!" Djaq told him, her eyes widening innocently.

Much smiled rather smugly. "Yes, Allan. Now it must be clear to you, I think, what it _really_ means to be one of Robin's frien-" his words were cut short.

John, who had been out with Tuck and Kate in Nottingham, burst into the camp suddenly, looking grim. Tuck was behind him, breathing heavily.

Allan was on his feet in an instant. "Where's Kate?"

"Gone," John panted, big hands on bigger knees. "They've taken her."

The happy scene erupted into a worried frenzy. "Taken, but how?" Djaq asked, her dark brows pulling together anxiously. "What were you doing?"

"Just scouting!" John shook his head, running his fingers through his matted hair. "I don't understand it. It was like...like the guards were assigned to be on the lookout for us today."

"Aren't they always?" Will asked. Automatically, his hand went to his throwing axe, tucked in his belt.

Tuck's dark face was grave. "It was different today. A starving family was begging for food. When Kate slipped over to help them, guards fell upon all of us. A signal."

"A trap," breathed Marian. "And Robin is gone."

"Robin will be back by nightfall," Much said, though his nervous tone did not sound overly confident. "He was going to 'borrow' a horse and ride to Kirklees. It's a two day journey, and today's the second day. That's all."

"But what does the Sheriff want now?" Allan cried, exasperated. "I swear, if this has something to do with the convoy we robbed the other day-"

Marian shifted on her bunk. Her face was pale, but as usual, she fell into the natural role of leadership in Robin's stead. "Of course it has something to do with that," she answered. "That money-for whatever reason-was to go to Prince John. Prince John is using it to search for someone, whose safety is so important that the King wrote to Robin about it. Clearly, interference will not be taken kindly by our enemies."

There was a short pause. "So they've got Kate for a bargaining chip," Will suggested at last, putting a steadying hand on Allan's shoulder.

Marian nodded, chewing her lip. "Or for bait."

John shouldered his staff. "We go to Nottingham."

Allan was already running.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One-Guy

"I've caught one! Trap, baited. Cheese for the mouse. It's good, Gisborne. It's so good. Hood will think, "oh, how predictable!" plan a rescue, and then-" the Sheriff snapped shut a steel clamp, which was lying among the discarded parchments on the long table. "The _real_ trap closes. Oh, Gisborne-it's marvelous. Just _marvelous_."

"You've caught an outlaw, then?" He was ashamed of the reluctance he felt dogging his own voice. Why should he care that an outlaw had been captured? Why did it matter if the camp _was_ attacked, if Marian-

He stopped the thought short and drew in a long breath that just escaped being shaky.

"Yes, indeed." The Sheriff patted one of his skulls tenderly upon the head and then smashed it suddenly against the wall in a fit of malicious joy. "It's just...ah, it just wonderful. To be...to be_ this close,_ Gisborne. After all this time. Finally. The perfect plan. And it's his! Using the _very_ same pawn." He paused. "The outlaw's a girl-not the Saracen one. The blonde one. Whinging on and on that she hates us all, and you killed her brother. The usual." He quirked an eyebrow. "You _did_ kill her brother?"

"Yes, my lord." Guy wasn't sure why the admission stung him so, but it did.

The Sheriff pressed his hands together. "Good, good. Then she's angry, not insane. Those are better. A little anger-a little pent-up frustration. It adds such a layer of_ drama_ to the whole thing. You should go down an see her Gisborne, make her talk-something. I don't know. Work your charms upon her. What little charms you have." He squinted out the window at the sun. "Hood should be here before long."

Below in the courtyard, Guy heard the sound of tramping feet. A garrison of guards, well-armed.

The Sheriff followed his gaze. "Ah...yes. The detachment for our dear little leper friend. They'll go out as soon as we get the signal that the outlaws have arrived."

"Your leave to go, my lord?" Every footstep in the courtyard below might as well been a blow to his heart.

_Your heart. If you still have one._

The Sheriff paused, stroking the dark lambswool of his cuff. "Oh, wait, Gisborne—one more thing. How _could_ I have forgotten. It's the best part! Heard the other news?"

There was something too gleeful in the Sheriff's tone that assured Guy of the news' unpleasant nature. "What news?"

"Speaking of our dear, soon-to-be-no-more leper friend...Lady Marian," said the Sheriff, savoring the words with unholy pleasure. His eyebrows twitched. "As was, of course. How silly of me. She's an outlaw now."

Guy's shoulders stiffened at the name, though it had been ringing in his ears all morning-every minute, of course, but especially now as the Sheriff laid the way for her doom, and he stood by...watching. "What about Lady Marian?" He forced himself to keep his tone level, but he knew that he wasn't fooling Vassey.

The Sheriff clapped his hands, relishing the moment. "The guards heard it from some overly excited villagers...word _does_ get round...and she's expecting! Hood's child, of course."

Guy couldn't have told why he wasn't expecting it. Surely, he should have known that…that news such as this would come. But that couldn't stop the cold shock rising with him, quickly flaming into the heat of a burning, bitter jealousy. Jealousy and despair. "And, my lord?" If God would only grant him the grace to sound as though he didn't care…

Then of course, why would God grant him any graces?

The Sheriff beamed widely, but his glittering eyes watched Guy's every movement like a snake."And what? Why, Gisborne, it's Christmas! Hood was divided before-wounded wife, outlaw agenda...they were in such conflict, so sad." He assumed a look of false concern. "But now-oh now, it's even better! There's a_ baby_! Hood has to protect a wife _and_ a baby now! And in a few short hours, Hood will have _lost_ a wife and baby."

"Very good, my lord. I'm sure it will advance your plans admirably." It took everything in him to say it.

"_Our_ plans, you mean," Vassey hissed, with a searching glance. He waved a hand. "Well, that's all for now. Just thought you'd like to know, since you always were so fond of her. Then again, that reminds me. Aren't you about to blessed with a bundle of joy as well?" He chuckled. "Tsk, tsk, Gisborne. Another serving girl, too. It's all over the kitchens."

Guy ground his teeth._ Aileen_. He had hoped it wouldn't get out so quickly-especially in regard to his...involvement. "I thought you didn't listen to gossip."

"Funny. Very funny. And I thought, Gizzie, that you'd learned. From the last one, I mean. The one who put a knife to your to throat and _hu-mil-iat-ed_—" he drew out every syllable to its fullest extent—"you in front of the castle guard. And Hood."

Guy was silent, jaw clenched, fingers itching for his sword hilt. Oh, to plunge the steel blade through this mocking, simpering, odious little man—

"Lepers, Gisborne. How many times do I have to tell you? But you can't seem to keep away from them. Although…" the hideously amused smile appeared again… "Although it's not really fair to say _them_, is it? We all know it's about _her_. Lady Locksley. But oh-once again, so silly of me. If she was Lady Locksley, that would mean she was yours, wouldn't it?"

He couldn't help himself. In an instant, sword flashed from scabbard, and Vassey's stream of taunts were cut off when he found himself pressed against the wall by the tip of a sword blade, facing a madman's eyes.

"Gisborne, what. Are. You. Doing."

"Don't speak to me of her again." Try as he might to keep control, his voice was hoarse. Broken.

I_s this all you can do? Rage against insults, while you watch her end unfold below your eyes..._the boots in the courtyard tramped on. _Weakness. Your whole being is fraught with it._

"Put away your sword, and maybe I'll forget this ever happened," coaxed the Sheriff. "Will I really forget? A clue: _no_. But, I may be persuaded to be more…lenient."

It wasn't the time, Guy knew, to do something really rash. With an effort to control his temper, he sheathed his sword.

"You're not free to go!" The Sheriff cried shrilly.

But he went anyway.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! Extra long chapter to make up for it? Also, an interaction :-)**

Chapter Twenty-Two-Rose

The morning had dragged too long, the midday meal had flown too quickly. It was afternoon, and Rose was more than ready for the day to be done.

A lock of her red-gold hair-not too red, so as to arouse suspicion of being a foreigner, but red enough for the blonde Saxon descendants to look askance at her-escaped from the scrap of leather cord she had tied it with and slipped over her shoulder, brushing against her face and exasperating her rather more than it ought to have.

_You've not a bit of patience-you never have. _That was true. But she was just so_ tired _of this-tired of the noise, and the heat, and the weeds, and the strangely sickening aura of gossip that always seemed to pervade the kitchen. Oh, to be away from it all-

"Rose, Cook needs someone in the kitchens, to help Aileen with supper." One of the other maids, a pleasant, round-faced girl with straw-like braids-was it Margaret? She couldn't remember-gestured towards the kitchen door.

Rose weighed her options for a moment. It was hotter, within, surely-but she would not have to pluck another weed (vile things!) and she would have Aileen for company.

"Indeed, I'll go," she agreed, dusting off her hands and gather her skirts around her to make for the kitchen.

Her spirits were raised, ever so slightly, but she couldn't help thinking of another kitchen...not nearly so large or so loud, with something delectable (and creative-squirrel stew, perhaps?) simmering over the fire.

_Oh, Mother-how I wish I was there instead of here. A thousand times a day, I wish-_

"Rose, you're here!" Aileen smiled happily.

Rose returned the smile, trying not to look concerned. It was hard, though, to look at Aileen and know-to see the curve of her belly, so incongruous when compared to the rest of her thin frame...and the sad look that always lingered in her eyes, even when she attempted cheerfulness.

"What's for supper?" Rose asked, trying to take her mind off the plethora of troubles that plagued her.

"Beef, and the best that can be had." Aileen shrugged. "The Sheriff must be celebrating something."

"Have you ever met him?" queried Rose, in a low tone. "The Sheriff."

Aileen's shoulders hunched forward a little. "Yes. Once or twice."

"Is he...what is he like?"

"He is a powerful man," Aileen whispered. The tone, and the whisper, conveyed more than the words. "My dear Rose, the walls have ears."

Rose swallowed. "Understood. So, beef. Lovely." She grimaced at the slab of floppy pink meat, ready to be roasted.

They did not speak for a few moments, and the only sounds in the room was the soft _snick_ of carving knives through beef and the rattling of pots.

Then suddenly, as unexpectedly as a cold wind on a July day, a commotion arose.

Afterwards, Rose reflected, it hadn't really arisen-it had just appeared out of thin air.

The back door burst open and three men tumbled through it. Though she had never seen them before, Rose had only to look at their rough clothing, roguish appearance, and sophisticated weapons to know that they were outlaws.

_Robin Hood's men_, she thought, feeling a thrill rise through her-but it was quickly followed by a surge of disappointment. Their elusive leader, with his unfathomable green eyes and laughing looks was not with them.

Aileen had turned absolutely pale, and she brandished the carving knife with a shaking hand. "Get out of here! Before I call the guards!"

"Wait!" Rose cried, trying to keep her voice down, lest the other servants be alerted. "Aileen, they'll not hurt you, I think-they must need something."

"Ah, you're the one," said the smallest-a foreigner, Rose thought, a Saracen...and perhaps not a man after all. The features were delicate and the voice feminine. "Much, Will, she must be the one!"

"The one what?" Startled by this cryptic reasoning, Rose had half a mind to catch up a knife herself.

"Just help us, please," pleaded one of the men-he had a round, comical, earnest face, fringed with a hopeful beard. His blue eyes were very round and had a look of insistence in them. "You've got to help us! We've got to save-"

"I don't care what you're here for!" Aileen exclaimed. "Listen, get out-you will be caught and hanged! Get out now and we won't speak of it. That's all the help we can offer you."

"They've got to save one of their men," Rose guessed. She was trembling with excitement, which she supposed was foolish.

"You've got us, alright. We're not here to cause trouble, just to save our mate," the tall one with the dark hair explained. He had a soft-spoken yet commanding voice that made Rose trust him at once.

_Definitely foolish._

Neither of the maids had time to answer, for in the hallway beyond was heard the tramp of mail-clad boots, and then a deep, ringing voice shouting out-"Find the outlaws!"

If Aileen had been white before, she looked ghostly now. "Sir Guy!"

Rose felt as though her blood had frozen in her veins. "Run! Get away!" she hissed at them. "No-there's no time-quick, hide!"

"Where?" cried the round-eyed one, waving his hands desperately.

The Saracen pointed upwards impatiently. "The rafters! Now! It's the best way!" She-Rose felt certain now that she was a girl-shot Rose a grateful glance. "Play dumb," she said briefly.

Rose nodded. There was nothing more she could do to help-rafter-climbing had not, surprisingly enough, been one of her childhood pastimes, but she motioned Aileen to turn back to chopping the meat.

They had barely hauled themselves up when the door was flung-or kicked open, and five guards rushed in, followed by a far more imposing figure in black leather.

Despite the circumstances, Rose felt that strange thrill floating up within her once more, against her will and against all reason, certainly. She hadn't been this close to the famous-or infamous...really, which was he?-Sir Guy before, and now that she was she was fascinated all the more by him.

His features were...well, there could be no denying that he was strikingly handsome. He was even taller than he had seemed from afar, and she found that it was hard not to feel that he was a man to be obeyed.

_Obeyed?_ Thankfully, she thought, that word had triggered her formerly (and only temporarily!) dormant sense of self. She had never liked to be obedient, and she certainly would not be, to _such_ a man as this. She only had to look at Aileen, to remember Aileen's story-no, she would not obey him. She would not bow to him. She would not even think him handsome...well, but that had already been thought. She would not_ care_ that he was handsome.

"You two." Sir Guy jabbed a gloved finger in their general direction. When his eyes fell on Aileen, Rose watched carefully, but not even the slightest change in his expression signified that he knew her. "We are searching for a band of outlaws, who are apparently within these walls. Have you seen them?"

"No," Aileen said softly, and Rose cursed herself for not speaking sooner. Aileen's voice had trembled, making her assertion unconvincing.

Sir Guy's eyes flashed, and he took a step forward. "You're lying."

Aileen backed up, pressing her back against the wall. "I-I'm not."

He reached forward and caught her chin between his fingers, clenching his hand slightly so that she gasped. When he spoke, it was almost a purr-low, intensely threatening, and to Rose's chagrin, startlingly attractive. "The next time you cross me will be your last. Now, again. Did you see the outlaws? Protecting them is treason."

_She'll break. She has to...poor thing... _Rose clenched her fists, wishing she could do something without worsening Aileen's plight. The tension in the room was palpable, everyone from the silent, stupid guards to the outlaws to whom Rose dared not lift her eyes were waiting with bated breath.

Aileen said, as best she could, "I haven't-seen them."

Sir Guy raised his hand, ready to strike. Rose decided-well, decided was giving her powers of reason more credit than was due to them-to take leave of her senses. In an instant, she had dashed forward and seized his arm with both hands. "Stop!"

It was as though she had called a halt to time. She felt the muscles of his forearm tense beneath her grip, and his steely gaze snapped towards her. "Unhand me," he growled. "Do you think you can disrespect your betters like this?"

"I'm not letting you go unless you fling me across the room," Rose declared, and then realized that he was quite capable of doing that very thing. "I mean, I will not let you hurt her. She is pregnant, and she is innocent. Hit me, if you have to, but do not touch her. If you do, I swear I will-I will fight you."

He drew her towards him-or to speak truth, he pulled his arm inward and she followed. "_You_," he said. His voice had not lost its undertone of warning, but he also sounded interested. "Do you think you're a match for me?"

"No." Rose didn't see a point in lying about it. "But I can tell you...I can tell you what you want to know."

The interest in his eyes seemed to change-from interest in her to interest in the cause once more. It made him look harder, crueler, and she was sorry to see it.

_Think on your feet, Rose. Worry about details later._

With his other hand, he gripped her shoulder. "So, you upstart wench"-despite the words, she couldn't tell if he was really angry, or more to the point, if he was going to kill her-"tell me where the outlaws are."

"Only if you promise not to hurt her." She nodded towards Aileen, still not letting go of his arm.

"I'll kill her if you _don't_ tell me." His blue eyes roved over her, daring him to challenge him.

Rose always took dares; it was one of her weaknesses. "Then I'll fight you," she said, meeting his gaze squarely, with the same defiance Aileen had warned her against.

"This again," he sneered-but somewhere in his scorn she detected the smallest fragment of respect. "Alright. I leave that miserable drudge alone, and you tell me what you know."

"Deal," Rose retorted, through gritted teeth. _How dare he insult Aileen?_ one part of her raged, but the part that was commanding the floor knew that now was not the time to quibble over name-calling.

"Let go of my arm," he said. It was almost a purr again.

"Let go of mine," she argued.

He made a show of releasing her. "Spit it out before I lose patience."

"Aileen did not see the outlaws," Rose explained, her voice clear despite the fact that she was working out the details of the story as she went. "She came in after they had already passed. I saw-I saw them go up. They went up into the castle, saying it was the best way. I did not know who they were, so I thought nothing of it. Now I know."

"They went up," he repeated, folding his arms across his chest. He jerked his head towards the guards. "You, go up into the Keep, alert the rest. The outlaws are going in." He shook his head. "It must be a diversion-you, go check the dungeons. That's where their _friend_ is."

The guards filed out. Sir Guy turned as well, and then paused to look back at Rose. "You will be..._punished_...for your impudence, depend upon it." Once more, he looked her over-she set her jaw and took it, knowing that her luck was too close to running out to chance more defiance-and then half-stalked, half-swaggered out of the kitchen.

Beside her, Rose heard Aileen let out a shaky sigh, and then she remembered to breathe herself. Somewhere in the past few moments she'd quite forgotten how.

The rafters creaked as they outlaws swung down. The Saracen girl paused and met Rose's eyes. "You are brave, and clever," she stated. "We are in your debt."

The other two bowed, and the dark-haired one said, "We will find a way to thank you."

Rose dug her nails against her palms to keep her hands steady. Aloud she said quietly, "Please tell your master that I would speak with him again about a matter of some importance."

They nodded. The round-eyed one said. "You'll not put him in danger, understand?" and the Saracen rolled her eyes. "Quiet, Much. Quick, we have little time. They are already going to the dungeons-we must get Kate out."

They were gone as swiftly as they had come.

_Act as though nothing happened, go back to cutting meat,_ Rose told herself. Instead, she burst into tears.

In an instant, Aileen's comforting arms were around her. "Rose, you were so brave! You-you saved everyone."

"I was an idiot, but I had to be," Rose sniffed, finally letting herself tremble for a moment. She felt sick. "I...I don't know what I thought I was doing."

"It was the most impressive thing I've ever seen," Aileen whispered. "And not since-there was another woman here, once, who had your strength. I'll tell you about her sometime." She clasped Rose's hand for a moment. "You've got to be even more careful now, Rose. He-he knows about you now."

"Ever so much," Rose agreed ruefully. She tried to tell herself that it would pass away, that it had been nothing.

_It was just a few words..._

**_Such_**_ words._


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Thank you EVER so much for reviews, favorites, follows, and reads. But especially for reviews! I check obsessively and when there's a new one it just makes my day! :-) Thank you guys a million times!**

**My finals are over, so hopefully I'll be posting more frequently again! This chapter includes some Marian introspection, which I think is important, since we've been seeing plenty of Guy's. It's a difficult balance to walk-I don't want her pining after him exactly, because she loves Robin...but there was something between them for sure. Hope you guys like! Let me know! (Hint hint...review...:D)**

Chapter Twenty-Three-Sherwood

Sherwood Forest was cloaked in stillness. Normally, Marian reflected, she would have welcomed the quiet-freedom from the bantering jibes of the Gang, whose chatter, though she loved them, could be wearying. Yet today the silence only agitated her. It pressed on her mind, reminding of her of how imprisoned she was by immobility and quiet.

_Draining the life out of me._

She tried to shake away the morbid thought.

_When the wound heals, it won't be so hard...I'll be strong again._

She traced a hand gently over her stomach, fingers flitting lightly over the tender edges of the wound.

It was half-thrilling, half-terrifying to think that there was a tiny person growing within her; for a moment she allowed her mind to drift over the worry that had been shadowing her joy.

_Will the baby be alright?_ She did not understand just how mangled she had been-it _had_ been a miracle that she'd lived, but how much recovery was possible from such an injury, she did not know.

A flashback was coming on-she could feel it-and she tried to steel herself against it. _Quick, think of something else-_

But no, there she was again, in the dry, merciless heat of the Holy Land, being proud and cruel and brave and stupid, and crushing the heart of the only other man in the world that she had ever even considered loving.

_Poor Guy..._

A sigh escaped her, and she gave a little shudder of pain. Half of it might be attributed to the wound, but the other half-oh, surely, her heart was not still moved by the incident-

Yet it was.

It was not as though her feelings were divided as they had once been-indeed, though she would never admit it aloud, there _had_ been a time when she had been able to envision herself as Lady Gisborne...and it was not so terrible a fate as it might have seemed-but she was sorry. Truly sorry, for what she had done.

Robin would never forgive Guy for stabbing her, but Marian had forgiven him long ago. Secretly, she wondered if he would ever forgive _her_.

_"Stay,"_ he had begged her, when they had nearly been more than friends. _"Stay, and make this place bearable."_

_That _was what stung her-what gave a twinge to her conscience. She knew that he could be cruel, but he was not really cruel. He could do terrible things, but he himself was not terrible. Not inside. Not like the Sheriff. He was only hurt, and she had been his only hope for healing. She remembered once more the glimmers of promise-the shy, hopeful smiles...the clumsy gifts...the passion and the pain.

_Oh, how it would hurt him to know about the child-_she pushed the worry away. _Why should you feel sorry for him? He knows that you love Robin. He will have to heal his own wounds as surely as you do yours._

Still, despite what her husband might say, she could not think it wrong to wish Guy happiness.

_He would never have found it with me, anyway,_ she comforted herself. _I would not have made him happy._

She shifted to her side, a guilty pleasure since Djaq was always warning her not to move. Surely, if she only twitched a little it could not really hurt things.

The stillness of the forest was broken suddenly by a birdsong, and then by the sound of hoofbeats and footsteps tramping...she could hear the shouting of orders.

"Find the camp!"

Marian froze. She was far from cowardly by nature, but she was alone and vulnerable and injured. If they found her-the camp was partially underground, but not completely. If one came from the right direction, it was possible to see-

Directly above her, on the ledge overhanging the entrance, she heard more voices. "Clever of the Sheriff, eh? I dunno, but what that Lady Marian (as was) is all alone and is ours for the takin'. That was the Sheriff's plan, trap at the castle and trap out here. Nothin' the two can do about t'other till it's too late."

"I s'pose," agreed the other. "But it's always us doin' the work. Where's Gisborne?"

"Shh! Don't complain! Y'know he wouldn't come. Personal interest and all. He and Lady Marian were rather close for a while."

"Ah, but rumor has that he-you know. Stabbed 'er."

"That's just messed up. Blimey, it's wrong!"

_I'll stab you, if I have to,_ Marian thought, wrapping her fingers-_why_ were they shaking?-around the handle of a small blade. She doubted that, realistically, she'd even have a chance before they overcame her. And if they'd come to kill...

_Not now,_ she prayed. _Not with the baby. And Robin-_

They were close now. Very close. Forcing herself to keep from panicking, Marian racked her brains to find some sort of comprehension of whatever "plan" they were referring to. It seemed that the Sheriff had baited Robin-_with Kate, of course, that's what the capture was about-_and had also sent out men to attack the camp-and her-while he and the rest of the gang were gone.

_Clever._ They were hoping to catch Robin off-guard, attack from both sides when he wasn't expecting it.

_And Robin isn't even here!_ Hearing the foreboding movements of the guards above and around her, she didn't know if Robin's absence helped the Sheriff's plans or foiled them.

But if-

The sharp whistle of an arrow could be clearly heard in the forest above, and Marian's heart leapt with a thrill of relief. A moment later, a beloved voice broke out,

"Looking for something?"

"What's he doin' here?" The guards were confused, as well they might be. "He's not supposed to be-"

"He's alone, Hood's alone, take him down!" shouted the leader, evidently attempting to rally his uncertain guards.

Robin's laugh rang through the trees. "Take me? A fair proposition. There's what, ten of you?"

Marian heard only mayhem after that. It seemed a long while afterwards that silence-more welcome now-reigned once more, and the last sounds of desperately galloping hoofbeats had died away.

Robin's light step came near, and in a few moments he was beside her-all bravado gone from his face, with nothing but worry in his keen eyes. "Marian, where are the rest? I'll kill them. I swear I will."

She pressed a finger to his lips. "No, don't blame them. It was all in the Sheriff's plan, Robin-as best as I can make it out-he captured Kate, and in a panic they all went after her. When really, that's what he wanted! He wanted to attack from both sides. There-and here."

His hands, usually so strong and firm, were almost trembling as they clasped hers. "Marian, if it hadn't been for my return-you might-I-"

"You came back, dearest. It's all right. Truly, it is." She touched his cheek. "Please, do not be angry with the others. It was difficult, I'm sure-they did not have you. They acted without thinking, but they did it for one of us. Don't judge too harshly."

"It can't happen again. I can't lose you, Marian."

"I know." She kissed him, very gently. "Robin, did the guards find the camp?"

He shook his head. "I wounded four. The others took them and retreated in defeat." A half-smile, not entirely bereft of his usual mischievousness, flitted over his face. "These guards get more and more incompetent every day."

Marian laughed softly at his satisfaction. "Then we are lucky."

He nodded, throwing back his head and gazing up at the leaf-thatched ceiling which had been their protection. "We can't keep depending on luck."

They heard voices approaching once more, and the gang burst in, dusty, sweaty, but complete with a worn-out looking Kate. When they saw that Robin had returned, their weary faces lighted up, but the joy quickly faded when they saw his expression.

The lecture was not long, but the effect was clear-and on every face was clearly written shame and chagrin, so that their abnormally grim leader took pity on them.

"Come, lads, don't look so glum. I know that you had to save Kate. And it's all ended well." He put a hand on Kate's shoulder. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back," she smiled, and put her hand in Allan's.

Much gave a plaintive sigh.

"Robin," Djaq said, ever one to get to the point. "Robin, there's been a development. About the servant girl."

Robin was instantly intrigued. "Really?"

"She saved our hides today, from Gisborne," Will explained gravely. "She was brave."

"She was _very _brave," Much added emphatically. "She was also very pretty. Just in case anyone was wondering."

"Why did I miss all the fun?" Allan complained, but he winked at Kate and did not seem overly put out.

Robin listened to their tale with interest, his arms folded and his chin resting on fist. "I think we've found our insider, men."

"She wants to see you again," Djaq told him. "She said she had something important to speak with you about."

Robin nodded. "I'll pay her a visit."

"Robin," Tuck broke in, "What about Kirklees?"

A shadow passed over Robin's face. "I must ask you all to be patient," he said. "I need some time for thought first. Thought, and investigation."

"Is it serious?" John's woolly brows drew together.

Robin gave a laugh which became a sigh. "Serious? You have no idea."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four-Guy

Guy's search for the outlaws had been entirely futile. His incompetent guards-incompetent had been the Sheriff's choice of words, not his-had arrived at the dungeon a full two moments after the departure of rescuers and rescued.

_Failure, once again._

He was too tired to sigh. In the forgiving blackness of his quarters, he stripped off his leather jerkin, wishing it was as easy to shed layers of darkness from his soul as it was to cast aside the weighty garment.

A haze of faint moonlight drifted through his window, tracing tantalizing patterns of silver on the stone floor. Light breaking into darkness had always left him torn between agony and hope; redemption and despair.

Light-beautiful, pure, cold.

She had been light in his life, until he had snuffed her out of it, unable or unwilling to bear the glare of her goodness in the eyes of his soul.

Wearied by the mocking moon and the memories it brought forth, he turned away from the light and threw himself across his bed, thoroughly exhausted.

Not that he would sleep tonight.

He did not sleep well-had never, not since those long ago days when his father had returned a leper, when his mother had betrayed him, and the fire had claimed both their lives.

Those were the first events in a long stream of misfortune and malice that had dogged his every step and kept him restless every night for over a decade.

At least-there was a _small_ comfort-Marian, though the source of nearly all his trouble (or all his recognition of it), had not added her death to the weight on his shoulders.

She was still alive, for the guards had been chased off by Hood (who had utterly and completely evaded the Sheriff's plan by not coming to the castle himself). Thus it was that Marian was still alive-still alive and with child.

Here in twilit solitude, Guy could let the pain show more clearly on his generally impassive features. Here he could release it for a moment-just a moment...too much longer and he would never be able to go back.

He made the moment he permitted himself count; thought bitterly of Hood,of Marian, of their enduring happiness and of his enduring misery.

_"We'll find another way...he can't protect his little ladyfriend forever," _the Sheriff has plotted, once his initial rage at losing Hood had diminished.

Once again, Guy had felt his himself tense, his mind racing as he sought for a plan that would satisfy the Sheriff but protect Marian.

There wasn't one. The two had always been at one another's throats, as much if not more so than Hood and the Sheriff, and it a plan was to benefit one it necessarily injured the other.

_A choice. Just like always._

That he would fail it, he knew even before making it.

Sleep would not come for much time yet-if at all-and he knew full well that thoughts of Marian (however ubiquitous) would never assist that cause. Restlessly, he remembered over the other events of the day. His mind fell immediately on the confrontation in the kitchen.

_She was the same-the same who watched from the courtyard that day._

She had not changed. The same obstinate, beautiful features and intriguing expressions. The same idiotic impudence, here, in her actions today, pushed nearly to the breaking point.

_"Tell me where the outlaws are." _When he had spoken those words, he had expected fear-tears-pleas, recanting of former principles. Instead he had received defiance.

_"Only if you promise not to hurt her."_

_"I'll kill her if you don't tell me." _

_"Then I'll fight you."_

She had been remarkably-stubborn, and he had not known quite what to do. Doubtless he should have had one of his guards give her a sound beating for her insolence, or done it himself-but there had been something strangely compelling about her flashing eyes. She had grey eyes, he had noticed. Grey like the stormy sea at winter's tide, when its moody waves churned with Northerly winds.

_"I'll fight you,_" she had threatened. It had been an almost novel thought; she a slender young serving maid, he a battle-hardened man who could have taken her down with one swipe of his fist.

Yet her loyalty to Aileen had overruled every common objection-every inkling of rationality. When she had clung so fiercely, yet so fragily to his arm, with her tangled mass of red-gold tresses tumbling over her thin shoulders, a symbol of her fire-she had not cared how much danger she had put herself in.

_Neither did Marian._

The thought should have softened his view towards the mysterious maid even more, but something about the never-ending memory of Marian soured his mood. He traced the rim of his wine glass with a finger, remembering anew his promise of "punishment" to the girl as he had left. Yes, that was what she deserved-a reminder of her submissive status, and some much-needed respect for him. If that respect took the form of timid infatuation, so much the better.

He did not know why he was giving it so much thought. Was it because she was memorable, or because she had dared stand up to him? More likely it was because she was more like Marian than any other woman he had encountered before or since, and the thought of being able to come close-even to a pale imitation-was almost enough to begin filling the gap in his heart.

Almost. It would never really be enough.

**A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews! Hope it's still an interesting read! I promise the pace picks up soon!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: A nice long chapter as a present! Enjoy! And please, to those of you who are silent readers, I appreciate the views but it would be nice to see an occasional REview, if you don't mind ;). They really make my day and I'd just love to know what you think!**

Chapter Twenty-Five—Rose

Gossip, Rose found, spread more quickly than a fire in dry summer straw. It was not a day later that word of her confrontation with Sir Guy had made its rounds of the kitchen. Cook muttered "Fool" under breath, and Lila and some of the others made snide remarks.

Aileen did not say much, but her grateful eyes managed to soften Rose's feelings of embarrassment and chagrin.

Yet once more she was conflicted. Was it always right to behave the lady, decorous and reserved? Had she been wrong to be resourceful, bold, stubborn, reckless, and deceptive?

_Perhaps there is more than one way to be a lady. There have been plenty of saints who have acted boldly,_ she reminded herself. Still, it was difficult to put her misgivings over her own behavior to rest, and harder still to keep herself from trembling when she remembered him.

Him. Sir Guy. He was-_dangerous_. That was the only word for him-with his ice-blue eyes, slicing through all her defenses...his voice, rich and deep and curiously tempting...his iron grip on her shoulder, his alarming closeness in that moment.

She had taken a risky gamble, and she wasn't sure if she had the wits to play the game.

_Come now, Rose-now's not the time to dumb down your own intelligence. You know that you're clever enough, as clever as any man. You always have been._

But cleverness was not enough to counteract powerlessness. And she _was_ powerless, especially when compared with the forbidding figure in black, who had power spelled out in every line of his form.

With a sigh, she finished weeding a row of onions, disregarded Lila's whisperings behind her hand to another maid, and went to find Aileen, who was sweeping out the servants' quarters.

"You owe me something," Rose announced, leaning against the post of the doorway.

Aileen started badly. "What?" She had gone pale.

"It's nothing serious," Rose murmured, wondering what was wrong. "I only-I mean, you told me that you had a story to tell me. About some brave lady." She smiled half-heartedly. "I think I should like to hear it, now."

"Oh." Aileen's shoulders relaxed. "Of course. It's an interesting enough tale." She swept some grass out. "She was very, very beautiful, but she was very kind to us. She used to visit the kitchen sometimes, and talk to us. She reminds me of you, because she was so strong."

Rose flushed. "I'm not strong."

Aileen looked at her in surprise. "Of course you are! She, too, was not afraid of putting herself forward, of fighting when she had to...just like you. I'd give a great deal to be like that."

Rose picked up a broom. "What was her name?"

"Lady Marian, of Knighton Hall."

Rose wrinkled her brow. "Wait-that sounds familiar. Wasn't her father-"

"Sheriff, yes," Aileen nodded. "But you'll understand that I must keep my voice down. Marian and her father are both seen as traitors to the present Sheriff. They used to be rather in high esteem, until...well, Sir Guy was engaged to Lady Marian, but she left him at the altar. After that..." Aileen paused, but Rose's heart was pumping. She had not thought that Guy would figure in this story. "Go on?"

"After that," Aileen continued, a little reluctantly, "they said he burned Knighton Hall. Marian and Sir Edward-that was her father's name-were brought to the castle. He was put in the dungeon, but she was just-kept. That was when I got to know her better. Even though she couldn't leave, she never seemed caged. Not like-" again, she paused. Rose thought she'd been about to say, _"like me._"

"Then what?" Rose pressed.

"Well, her father died. Was killed somehow, I never heard the details. And then it was found out that-that she had been working for Robin Hood the whole time. That they were in love!"

Rose felt a thrill of excitement go through her. This Lady Marian-who, it seemed, had been both bold _and_ dignified, who had braved the wrath of authority to do what was right...she had been working with the mysterious outlaw!

"Where is she now?" she asked breathlessly. It was too much-no, surely, this brave Marian had not met an unfortunate end.

"She's with him now," Aileen explained. "They are married, and live in Sherwood. Or so everyone says."

_A perfect ending,_ Rose thought happily. She had a carefully guarded appreciation for romance, which she was loath to reveal. But this circumstance was too perfect not to enjoy. It seemed as though nothing-she stopped short. It couldn't have been perfectly happy for one person. "But did Sir Guy-" She didn't know what the question she was asking even was, or what answer she wanted for it.

"Sir Guy loved her," Aileen whispered. "And he still does. That's why..." A haunted expression had entered into her soft eyes, and Rose suddenly wondered if Aileen admired Lady Marian as much as Rose was swiftly beginning to.

"But he seems as though he could never-" the words left Rose's lips limply. She did not know what he _seemed_ like...she did not really know him. She knew, though, that there was more than one side to him. She tried again, and it still didn't come out right. "I don't know how he could feel. Or feel regret."

"Oh, he could," Aileen answered sadly. "His eyes-if you've ever looked into them-looked and seen what he's seeing, you'd know."

"What are they like?" Rose asked, half in wonder, half in fear. She had seen his eyes, but they had only been hard.

"Like a battlefield after the battle is over," Aileen said softly. "When all the brutal glory and cruel passion is fled, and all that is left is brokenness and suffering. And yet the same misery on the battlefield today will be tomorrow's fuel for fighting. That's why he is so sad, Rose. Tomorrow he will be just as cruel, and tomorrow night he will feel just as guilty over it."

Rose wrapped her arms about her knees, feeling strangely cold. "Then why?"

"Because he doesn't know what else to do." Aileen's voice grew harsher. "I think she used him. I did love her-I did, she was kind to us, but she used him. He shouldn't have been looking for love from her. He should have..." her words broke off short, as they always did when she was about to reveal too much. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, calm. "That's the story, Rose. I think you should get back to work now." She jerked her head towards the kitchen. "That reminds me-Cook needs someone to go to market."

"To market?" Rose looked confused. "But we went yesterday-"

"No, she wants you to go today. Here, a few coins. She gave them to me for you."

Rose nodded, still uncertain. "I'll go. Aileen, I'm sorry if I upset you. I didn't know that the story had to do with-"

"Sir Guy?" Aileen finished ruefully. "It's alright, Rose." She rested her hand against her stomach. "Everything does."

Rose didn't have an answer for that. She slipped the coins into the pouch at her belt. "I'll be going, then."

"Rose-" she felt Aileen's hand clutch at her shoulder. When she turned to look at her, she saw that same strange pallor had come over the other girl's face again. "Aileen, is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Aileen's smile was forced. "You're a good friend, Rose, that's all."

The walk to the village was a brief one, but Rose went as slowly as she dared, trying to enjoy her short moments of freedom. Walking to the marketplace reminded her of similar trips with her mother, when she could easily hide from burly strangers in the rough folds of her mother's skirts, and when the stalls overflowing with crisp-skinned onions, slabs of dried cod, and loaves of crusty bread were almost too high for her to reach.

_Those days are gone. Now you're-somewhere else, tangled up in a mess of a world._

She pushed impatiently through the crowds that hung around the vendors, mindful of Cook's impending wrath if anything but the finest produce were brought back.

Someone jostled her elbow painfully and she started. "Ow!"

"So sorry, miss," chuckled a familiar, roguishly refined voice in her ear.

Rose gasped a sharp intake of breath. "Robin Hood!"

"Not so loudly, lass." His hand took hers firmly but gently and tugged her to the shelter of a weaver's stall, where long swaths of linen hung to form a makeshift blind.

There, her companion tugged back his hood and she found herself smiling when, once more, she met the handsome young face and keen eyes of the outlaw leader.

"I saved your men the other day," she whispered tersely. Much as she had come to admire this man, there was no time to waste.

"I know. Clever of you. But weren't you afraid?"

She swallowed, remembering Sir Guy. "A little. Should I not have been?"

"If you'd said you weren't, I'd know you were lying," he grinned. "Fear's natural. But you were very, very brave. That's a quality I value."

"I need to ask you a favor."

"And I you."

"What can you want from me?"

His eyebrows twitched wryly. "Ladies first."

"Alright." Rose took a deep breath. "I have a friend, Aileen. She's a kitchen maid. She's-she's _expecting_.' She blushed, discussing such a thing with man. "The father-it's Sir Guy. Of Gisborne. Do you know him?"

"Aye." She glanced up, startled at the sharpness in his voice. His green eyes looked almost grey, and they were harder now.

"You know, him, then. Anyway, he's been-very unkind to her. He won't help her at all. And the baby-the baby will need food and a home. Aileen doesn't have any family. She doesn't know what to do. Can you help her?"

Robin didn't hesitate. He nodded quickly. "Your friend and her baby will be moved to safety. It's a promise."

Rose felt as though a great stone's weight had been removed from her shoulders. She blew out her breath, relieved. "Thank you, Robin Hood."

"Now, not to be indelicate, but as for my favor...first of all, what's your name, lass? Surely we're on good enough terms for that, now."

"It's Rose. Rose Acre."

"Rose." His eyes twinkled at her. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You wanted a favor?"

"Down to business, I see. Right then-my men told me of your resourcefulness and courage in facing up to Gisborne and armed guards. Our cause needs a person with those skills...on the inside."

Rose felt a tremor of excitement and danger-a new kind of danger. "You want me to spy for you?"

"Yes."

Rose knotted up handfuls of her skirt in her fists to still the shaking in her hands. "Before-and if-I agree, I need to know what your cause exactly _is_. I've heard rumors, hearsay, and old wives' tales. That's not enough. What is Robin Hood fighting for?"

The face before her grew grave instantly, every line of boyish mischief replaced with a man's determination. "For England," he said quietly. "For freedom and justice and right. When the King returns, the Sheriff and men like him would kill him, setting up his conniving brother on the throne. They would forever lock this country into a dungeon of greed and lies and brutality. They would starve these people, terrorize them, use them, kill them. My men and I are the only ones who will stand up and fight for a free England. For a good England. For the England we once knew."

She found herself moved by his words, but her own voice sounded quite detached as she said, "So you're all brave, then?"

"Brave enough." He shrugged. "And so are you. That's why we need your help. The Sheriff is planning something, and I need someone to find out more about it. From his angle. I'm already working my own."

"Don't you have anyone else, better than a silly serving maid?" Rose inquired. It was hard to think of herself as a brave spy, a helper to the most famous outlaw in England.

"We used to."

"Lady Marian," she interrupted. "I've heard."

"My lovely wife." His lips quirked up in a smile. "Yes. But Lady Marian's days of spying are over." Once more his face grew serious. "Rose, this is dangerous. Marian nearly died for what she did. My men have urged me to ask you, but I myself must be honest-this work is not something you must do. It is something you choose to do."

"What exactly would this work be?"

"It is nigh impossible to get close to the Sheriff. Marian—" the words seemed suddenly difficult for him to say. "Marian got close to Sir Guy."

_And it nearly killed her,_ Rose thought but did not say. She felt a sudden chill, wondering what the details had been.

Robin went on. "I will not ask you to do the same. We both know the only way that _that_ could be accomplished, and it is not something I would ask of any woman. But if you can befriend one of his guards—one of more couth ones, that is—if you can serve at state dinners and meetings, find a way to be in the parts of the castle where he and the Sheriff discuss their plans…all of this would be immensely helpful. Your instructions, for now, are simple. Hear everything you can, and report tome."

"How—"

Robin sighed and said, cutting her off, "How much will you be paid? I'm sorry, but I can offer no remuneration for your services. The reward of righteousness will have to be enough."

Rose flushed hotly at the thought. "No! I will not accept _pay._ I was asking how I might get the information to you."

He chuckled, and his eyes were approving. "Forgive me, milady. It was wrong of me to doubt. And do not fear that I will find a way to keep in contact with you—I walk through walls, as I'm sure you've heard." There was a mischievous glimmer in his green eyes.

"I don't believe such silly things," she returned, and then wondered if her tone had been too saucy. _Very probably._

"If you accept, I will do my best to protect you. My men and I will keep a close eye on the castle, and warn you if the Sheriff suspects you. I cannot promise perfect safety, but I think you know that."

"I do." She glanced back at the busy marketplace—it was markedly less boisterous now, and she realized with a start that she and Robin had been talking far too long. "I'm afraid I must go. I will be missed."

He smiled. "And I'm a wanted man." Once more he drew his hood over his face. "If you need time to think, I understand."

She paused for a moment—but a moment only. In her mind, she saw again the little round-faced child she had been, adoring her mother and thinking that her father would always be her hero, playing with her brothers and having no more hardships than a skinned knee, no more wants than sunshine and summer. She saw again the girl who had grown to realize that her father was no hero, but only a weak-willed man with no inclination to make a desirable dowry for his eldest daughter, who had beauty and brains but no fortune to recommend her. She saw her mother, growing older and thinner and more careworn, she saw her own futile attempts to take over the duties of the house. She saw again the pact her father had signed, relegating her to indefinite servitude. She saw Nottingham Castle, the thick-walled prison with evil at its heart.

As long she lived, probably, her wages would pay her father's debts. She had nothing to live for, not really. To have something real to live for was worth dying for, if need be.

She turned back to Robin, the outlaw with the green eyes which held a country's cause.

"I don't need time to think." Though her heart was pounding, her voice was steady. "I'll do it."

She saw him smile and nod, felt his slim strong bowman's hand clasp hers, and then he was gone.

To her own annoyance, Rose was shaking as she gathered some hastily chosen produce—there was no avoiding Cook's wrath anyway, since she was late—into her basket and made her way swiftly back to the keep.

_Why am I nervous?_

_You are rather an idiot—joining an outlaw's band? How do you know you can trust him?_

_I just can. And he trusts me, on short notice, so it's equally risky._

_That's a paltry excuse._

She ignored her nagging conscience as she let herself in the back door of the kitchen. She was hoping to sneak in unnoticed, but she was met by four armed guards, pawing through the pots and pans while Cook shouted.

Rose's breath caught in her throat as the basket fell from her hands. _How could they have found me out—I—_

"Rose! There you are!" she heard Lila's voice beside her. "Where have you been?"

"At market."

"Liar," Lila elbowed her. "We went to market yesterday. Doesn't matter. Have you heard the news?"

"What news?" Rose asked, glancing around. The other maids were gathered, but she didn't see Aileen.

"Aileen's gone and run off," Lila hissed. "And now two bags of gold are missing from the Sheriff's store. Who d'you suppose gone and taken 'em?"

The kitchen was as hot as usual, but Rose felt as though a cold wind had slipped in through the open door. "But they have no proof!" she cried. Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears. "No way of knowing!"

"Of course not," Lila agreed, shrugging lazily. Her eyes glinted. "But they came askin' and I told 'em what I knew. She's got a baby coming and the father won't take care of it. It may not be her, but I think it's likely. So do the guards."

"You are such a _snake!_" It took all of Rose's self-control not to slap the girl across the face. "You'd sell her out on account of jealousy!"

Lila did not seem touched by the insult. "Say what you like. I warned you about Aileen, Rose. And now I'm being proven right. I'd forget that you were ever friends with her. Don't want to be thought guilty by association, do you?"

The search ran on, but it was a faraway blur to Rose's eyes. Thoughts, each one more distressing than the next, raced through her mind.

_It can't be true…it can't be…not Aileen…surely she couldn't have—surely there's some mistake. It can't be true!_

If it was, even Robin couldn't help Aileen now.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Some revelation/plot furthering in this chapter! Don't assume anything too early! Read and review, ****_s'il vous plaît!_**

Chapter Twenty-Six—Sherwood

It was midday as Robin sped back to the camp, feet treading swiftly and lightly over the familiar paths of Sherwood.

It was times like this—under the still, silent guardianship of the ancient trees, with the wind at his back and the thought of camp lending him speed—that he took a few moments for himself, to think.

In his quick-witted mind, there were many compartments…allotments of space to separate matters. Sometimes they converged, as they did now—his concerns over the Sheriff and Prince John's activities, his visit to Kirklees, and his new arrangement with Rose, the spirited servant girl…all were connected in twisting threads.

He hadn't told his men—or even Marian—of what had occurred during his conversation with the Abbot; he intended to, surely, but sometimes he felt the need to work out the details before he could disclose the plan. He'd learned long ago that having a half-formed plan did no one any good.

The smell of roasted venison beckoned him to the camp, and he raced down the last hillside to meet his band, who were still rejoicing over the rescue of Kate.

A significant silence fell when he arrived.

"Well, then?" he asked.

"Did she say yes?" John asked, getting straight to the point as usual.

Robin grinned, hanging up his bow and quiver. "Unequivocally."

"That means without hesitation," Tuck supplied.

"That sounds foolish of her," Much sniffed.

"That sounds loyal," Djaq interjected. "Why should she wait, Much? We did not wait, when Robin asked us."

"But we had nothing else," Much rejoined stubbornly.

"Perhaps she has nothing else either," Marian broke in, her sweet voice brooking no argument. "The castle is not a place where one wishes to stay—and to have some escape from the cage…even within it…would be welcome to anyone."

"I liked her," Will put in quietly. "She showed spunk."

"I think we should trust her," Allan agreed.

"You think we should trust _anyone,_ including yourself," Much retorted. "I suppose she'll do. She certainly showed 'spunk' as Will said. However, I still think it's wrong of us to make someone cozy up to Gisborne."

"I'm not _making_ her do anything of the sort," Robin defended himself. "I told her to keep as clear of the Sheriff and Gisborne as she can. We don't need to repeat history." He wrapped one of Marian's hands protectively in his.

After a respectful pause, Kate said, "Robin, what happened at Kirklees?"

Robin smirked—he'd been expecting the question. "I'm hungry." He expected argument, but there was none. Much only said, in a strangely forced voice, "Go get your bowl. We set it out for you."

"Get it for me, I'm tired!" Robin teased, but he sauntered over to where his dish was set out on a rock. As he picked it up, it tugged at a string—and too late he realized his mistake. Amid shouts of laughter, a net of his own making fell over him, effectively trapping him with nothing more than a bowl of roasted venison.

"You're not getting out of there until we've heard about Kirklees," Much informed him.

Allan chuckled. "Sorry, mate."

"Who did this?" Robin demanded, feigning indignation.

"We all know who," Djaq laughed, pointing at Will, who only smiled pleasantly.

Robin appealed to his wife. "Marian, as my second-in-command, it is your duty—"

"To ensure that you do _yours_, Robin Hood," she teased. "And so you will not be released until you have told of us what passed at Kirklees. No pretty words and smiles will help you—we are united in our hardheartedness."

The Master of Sherwood observed the faces around him and sighed resignedly. "Alright, I give up! Let up the net!"

"We're not the Sheriff, Robin," Will reminded him.

"Yes, we know you'll run off as soon as we lift it," Much said. "So, out with it!"

Robin ate his venison with a wry smile—though he was entirely amused—and assented to tell the story. "It's serious, men."

Even though their leader was rather ignominiously tangled in a net, chewing on cold venison, the Sherwood outlaws listened with the utmost respect.

"I spoke with the Abbot, and he told me that the King has begged sanctuary for a _person_ of national importance."

"Is it like when we saved the Queen?" asked Djaq.

"Even more so," Robin said, with a nod. "Apparently, the person in question is also related to the King. I don't know how. King Richard kept their whereabouts a closely guarded secret, but worried especially when he went to war. He knew that his brother would seek to remove any and all connections to the royal family who might win the people's loyalty, and incite a rebellion against his brutal regime."

"But now," Tuck put in, quickly connecting the pieces, "Prince John has found out that this person exists and is doing everything in his power to eliminate them."

"He's enlisted the help of the Sheriff," Marian added. "Because Vassey always seeks opportunities to improve his credibility with the prince."

"Who is the person, though?" Much asked.

"We don't know," Robin answered slowly. "But I've a good idea."

"There whereabouts have been kept secret," Marian said. "That must mean that—they must be an illegitimate child of the King."

"I thought better of the King!" cried Much, horrified at this thought. "Kings ought not to behave in such a way."

"Hush, Much," Djaq admonished. "Very few of your Kings have been good men; fewer still have been Saints. Do not admire your Kings too much."

"An illegitimate daughter," Robin agreed, ignoring Much's outburst. "The Abbot believed that she has been living with a noble family—perhaps in London—but he did not know for certain."

"If such a person could be found," Tuck rejoined, "Though they would not be an heir, they could challenge John's charismatic authority over the people. They could rally the populace, even gain the respect of nobles and armies. They could be powerful."

"Her, the Prince and the Sheriff do not like," John remarked gruffly.

"Exactly." Robin ran a hand across his short beard. "The question is, how do the Sheriff and the Prince propose to draw out this girl? If she has been living with a noble family, she will not be easy to find."

Djaq started to her feet in excitement. "Robin, this is it! It makes sense now!'

"What makes sense?"

"When we were rescuing Kate—I overheard a servant speaking about the great banquet the Sheriff is holding in a month's time…he is calling together every noble family, to present their daughters to society, in the hopes of marrying eligible knights." She shrugged. "I thought nothing of it, but now—"

"Aye, she's right," Will put in. "And there's rumor about town of the Prince himself coming."

Robin pressed his lips firmly together, shaking his head. "How like the Sheriff. He and the Prince will do their best to discover which of these young women are _not_ naturally born of their noble 'parents,' and then—"

He paused grimly.

Much whispered, "Then they'll kill her."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Whew, this was a fun chapter to write! I think it might be my favorite yet—I've had it floating about in my head this whole time. Enjoy, and review if you're feeling generous!**

Chapter Twenty-Seven—Guy

Guy listened to the steady, jolting hoofbeats of his horse as he rode into sight of Nottingham Castle, one hand expertly guiding the reins—would that everything in life was so simple as riding—and the other wrapped grudgingly around his quarry, Aileen.

It hadn't taken him long to find her. She was staggering through the woods, footsore, exhausted by the weight of her child and her worries—he was on horseback, driven by anger that, in the back of his mind, he knew to be rooted in shame.

When Guy had sighted her, he had swung down from his horse and pursued her on foot. Aileen tried to run, but it wasn't long until his gloved hand gripped her shoulder and swung her round to face him.

"Guy, please don't hurt me!" Tears streaked her face, making her look much younger than she was.

He had hesitated. Angry as he was—the Sheriff, in sending him to find her, had used some choice words in regards to this "exponentially increasing problem of your own idiotic making, Gisborne"—it was hard not to pause before striking a helpless woman, pregnant with _his_ child.

There was nobody there—not Vassey, not even a guard—to see his weakness, and so in the end he did not hurt her, but merely jerked her roughly towards him. As he did so, there was a tell-tale _clink_, and two velvet bags, lumpy with coins, fell from beneath her apron. Her eyes rounded with fear.

"So, you _are_ the thief. I could have guessed as much," he had growled.

"I'm sorry," she had whispered.

He had shrugged derisively. "It'll be hell to pay. Pick them up, and be quick about it. You've wasted enough of my time."

She did so, swallowing a sob. "Guy, I didn't want to do this. It was for the baby...our baby."

He pressed his hand against her mouth. "Don't speak to me of any of this. You should be grateful I haven't killed you as you stand, and left your body to rot." As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced. So often, he could push away the gnawing canker of guilt that troubled him, but it was hard when the cruel words were spoken to the mother of his child, a woman to whom he had once professed some semblance of love. _Brute,_ something within him accused. It was the most he could do not to imagine Marian's horrified face, the would-be reproach in her eyes.

He jerked his head towards his stallion, who was observing the entire scene with patient disinterest. "Get on the horse."

She tried, but faltered. With an aggravated sigh, he swung himself up and then lifted her, non-too-gently, in front of him.

"I'm so sorry," she said again, tearfully. "I—"

He pressed his lips to her ear, a brutal mockery of their former intimacy. She trembled at his nearness. "The Sheriff will have you hanged for this."

She cried, then, and it was his fate to spend the ride feeling her sobs resonate against his chest, each one a gently crushing blow of remorse.

Aileen did not speak for a long time, not until they had entered the castle gates, where Guy felt burdened beneath the curious stares of the guards. He heard her murmur, "Do you hate me?"

_Did he?_ His mouth felt dry as sand as he tried to answer. She was so soft, so fragile in his arms, and he remembered the untainted love in her eyes—though it had, in truth, been no more than infatuation—that had made him call her to him night after night. His affection—if it had been that—had been over quickly, and the child which had resulted from it had been a heavy weight of shame for him to bear. The whisperings around the castle were unpleasant but bearable; Vassey's humiliating taunts were not. And all of it was tied so irrevocably—so painfully—to Marian…because Marian would have been ashamed of him, because Marian would have urged him to do right by the girl and the child, because Aileen was not—and would never be—Marian. Bitterness, guilt, pain—but hate? How could he hate someone who was only hurt as much as he was?

He let hardness surge over him again. "I don't care enough to hate you." They were in the courtyard now.

He felt her sigh, soft and despairing as her soul's last breath. "That's what I thought."

The answer was strangely discomfiting to him. He gripped her arm tightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought there was another side to you, Guy." As he swung down from the horse, lifting her more carefully than he should have after him, the sadness in her eyes tortured him.

"You don't know me," he retorted harshly, resisting the inexplicable urge to help her up as she crumpled wearily to the ground. He would have cut off his right hand to stop the pain in his heart. Unable to look at her any longer, he beckoned to two guards. "Take her to the Sheriff."

"Wait!" The cry, insistent—almost commanding, rang out from across the courtyard.

Guy turned—snapped, with almost military rigidity, to see who had _dared_ interfere with his actions. Running towards them, red-gold hair floating in the breeze, pale-faced yet determined, was the same servant girl who had defied him not a day ago.

_Over Aileen, too. _

"Rose!" Aileen exclaimed, going white. "Rose, don't—" Guy's glance silenced her.

_Rose. _So that was her name. She was kneeling not a yard away from him now, arms wrapped protectively around Aileen, who was crying again.

_Women,_ Guy thought, disgusted, before realizing that, for one thing, the two specimens of womanhood before him could by no means be grouped together as one category, and for another, the thought had been dangerously like one of Vassey's.

He folded his arms authoritatively across his chest and fixed Rose with his most piercing stare. "What are you doing here?" To his growing uncertainty, her steely gray eyes did not waver.

"What are you doing to Aileen, you—you—" She seemed unsure with which epithet to favor him.

His lips twisted in a deadly smirk. At least, he hoped it was deadly. It had never worked on Marian, for one thing. "Careful, wench. If you recall, I don't favor impudence." He cast Aileen a contemptuous glance. "Your _friend_ here has been caught in the act of stealing from the castle treasury." For emphasis, he let fall the two bags of coins.

Aileen sobbed again. "Rose, I'm sorry—"

Guy didn't even look at her. His gaze was fixed on Rose, whose face had suddenly gone deathly white and still. She straightened, still resting her hand on Aileen's shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was clear and cold. "There's been a mistake," she said briskly.

"What mistake?" He raised one eyebrow, noticing that her pupils had dilated, darkening her expressive eyes.

"My friend is innocent. _I_ took the bags from the castle treasury."

There was a moment's stunned silence. The guards gaped, and Aileen gasped. "Rose, _no!"_

Guy found himself intrigued—and strangely stirred. "Then why did she have them?"

"I gave them to her. She did not know where they came from."

"Is this true?" He turned his gaze to Aileen, who he knew could not resist it the way Rose did. She faltered for a moment, but then he observed a quick flash of glances were exchanged between the two women. Aileen said, shakily, "It's true."

He didn't believe it, not for a moment, but for some curious reason he did not say so. He turned again to Rose. Though she was a full head shorter than him—Marian's height—she did not look afraid. "You realize, then, that this offense is punishable by death—and by owning to it, you take that penalty upon yourself?"

He thought, then, though it hadn't seemed possible, that she turned a shade whiter. Her voice was calm. "Yes."

His lips curved in a smile whose cruelty he did not feel. "Very well then, Rose." Even though he had spoken her name disdainfully, he could taste its sweetness.

The gawking guards stood hastily attention. "Shall we take her to the Sheriff, my lord?"

He traced a leather-covered finger thoughtfully across his lips. "No. I'll take her myself."

"Rose!" Aileen clasped at her hand.

"Go back to the kitchen," Rose said. Guy realized that he had never heard her speak so gently—perhaps because he had only heard her challenging him. "It will be alright."

He could not bear to watch any longer. Concealing his weakness, he caught her by the arm—God above, she was beautiful—and dragged her towards him. "Come."

The walk towards the Sheriff's quarters seemed quicker than usual, and he almost wished that it passed more slowly.

Rose fought every step of the way. "Let go of my arm!"

He pulled her closer, savoring her exasperation. "You lost the dubious ability to order me about when you turned yourself in," he murmured, lips hovering close to her ear.

She jerked away, tossing her glorious hair defiantly, and muttered something beneath her breath. Then her mood changed, and she stopped short, turning to face him.

"What now?" he growled. It was hard to keep up his act, though, when her fine-boned features were so close to his.

"Don't you _dare _hurt Aileen, when this is over," she said. Her voice was low but insistent, and he was reminded again of Marian.

He twisted her wrist, ever so slightly, but she didn't respond. _Not even an ouch._ "Remind me again why I should listen to you?"

Her cheeks flushed with anger. "Because that poor woman is carrying _your _bastard child. If you won't look out for them, as a _real_ man would, you can at least stop terrorizing them just to ease your own feelings of humiliation."

He was struck dumb by the astuteness of her words, and had no time for a retort before she continued fiercely, "Aileen says there's another side to you, and I don't know yet if I should believe her. You're cruel, and cowardly, but I don't think you're a monster." She paused, and then went on—but for the first time he could hear a tremor in her voice—"Apparently there was someone else, once, who thought the same…"

_Marian._ How could this serving girl know? Guy felt the blood drain from his face, and knew that all the tragedy and hurt, unguarded by his usual quick defenses, were written plainly in his eyes for her to see. She couldn't see. No one could. He averted his gaze from hers, and said grimly, "Think what you like." When he was sure that any telltale emotion—any weakness—was concealed behind a sneer, he looked at her again. "If it's a monster you're looking for, you're about to meet one."

They had moved forward, and were standing before the doors of the Sheriff's quarters.

**A/N: Exciting, right? What will happen to our brooding anti-hero and impetuous (too-impetuous?) heroine? Will it be simple, or boring? A clue? Nooooo… ;-) Until next time!**


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight-Rose

It seemed to Rose that an icy gust of wind wafted forth as Sir Guy pulled open the great doors to the Sheriff's quarters. She had never seen the Sheriff—only heard of him, and Sir Guy's words—_"If it's a monster you're looking for, you're about to meet one," _ filled her with a terror that she forced herself not to show.

_Stupid, stupid girl,_ she chided herself. _You've got to_ think_ sometimes, instead of acting. Now you're going to die…_

She rejected the thought. _I did what I had to. No matter what, I couldn't let Aileen take the blame. And if I think on my feet—if I'm clever—I may be able to get out of this._

Such hopes were difficult to maintain, however, as Sir Guy jerked her through the doors and let her fall on her knees, scraping them painfully against the flagstones.

As she raised her head, a voice spoke—a shrill, affected, irritable voice. "_What now, _Gisborne? Who is this sorry person?" Surely this couldn't be the Sheriff—

She looked up, taking in the spacious room, with its swirled glass windows and high ceiling. In the center was a great carven table, and behind it, on an enormous throne-like chair, lolled a little balding man in black with a short grey beard, a sour expression, and sandals.

"My lord, this is the thief." said Sir Guy. He spoke respectfully, but Rose wondered how he could do so keeping a straight face. If this man _was_ the Sheriff, he was hardly intimidating.

The little man stood up and came towards them, his hands clasped behind his back. "She's not pregnant."

"No, my lord. There was…a mistake, of sorts." Sir Guy's voice sounded slightly forced.

"Ah, so your little bit of…_fun_…turned out _not_ to be the thief. I see. Or is this your latest?" His eyes studied Rose with calculating precision, and for the first time since seeing him she felt a shiver of fear climbing her spine. His eyes were flat, expressionless, and slightly crazed. A snake's eyes.

"She's very pretty, isn't she," the Sheriff mused, reaching out to run a finger across Rose's features. She drew back, but his hand caught her hair and yanked her head forward. "Don't shy away from me, pet," he cooed. "Ah, Gisborne, there's a little spirit here, I see. Good, good. That always makes the proceedings more interesting."

"My lord, what is your sentence?"

The Sheriff fondled one of his teeth, which, Rose observed, was embedded with a diamond. It twinkled grotesquely. "The sentence? Why, Gizzy—what do you think? Death, of course. We can't have filthy little robbers emptying out our storerooms, now can we?" With every word, he pulled at Rose's hair a little more. She ground her teeth.

"Hanging?"

"Hanging? Gisborne you're _so_ boring. SO dull. Why would we hang her? Such a pretty thing—such a pretty little bird. Do you think I won't _enjoy_ this? There's so much we could do with her!"

Rose felt her throat constrict. She really _had_ done this without thinking—she had had no plan, no support. If only Robin Hood—but he was in Sherwood forest, ignorant of her fate. He could not save her. Of the two men with her now, she had dubiously placed her trust with Sir Guy, but his passive support of the Sheriff's tyranny gave her the most worrisome misgivings.

_Perhaps he is a monster too…_

_Rose, if you don't think of something now, you're done for. _

"Do you remember the Festival of Pain, Gisborne? It was delightful—just delightful. Until _Hood_ showed up and ruined it all. Then, Gisborne, it wasn't delightful at all. Do you know, sometimes I just lie awake and night and nearly weep, thinking of it. Thinking of the GLORY—" his voice rose to a shriek—"the glory we might have had that day."

"Your point, my lord?" Sir Guy was still behind her, and she could not see if there were any traces of humanity in his face. His voice—deep and resonant as ever—betrayed nothing.

"Let's do it again! Privately. One victim, that's all. I'll enjoy it—we needn't invite an audience." He stooped, so that his face, his grin, the gleaming tooth and foul breath were inches away from Rose. "Just us, my dear girl."

It would have been easy, very easy, to freeze—to become like a bird that is hypnotized by a serpent. But Rose knew that easiness would only lead her closer to her doom. So instead, she threw caution to the winds for the second time that day—and laughed.

The Sheriff straightened up, confused and annoyed. "It's laughing. Gisborne, why is it laughing? Why is the pretty little thing laughing—it's going to _die. _Doesn't it know?"

"I know," Rose said, keeping her tone amused. _What would Robin do? The famous outlaw—the one who can slip out of any noose…_

"You know what?" the Sheriff snapped, as though he hadn't just asked a question pertaining to just that. To her relief, he let go of her hair.

"I know that you're making a rather idiotic mistake…" Rose drawled, shaking her hair behind her shoulders. "But I suppose men _are_ like that."

The Sheriff's eyes flickered. "Mistake? Me?"

"You've made a mistake, not making use of my…abilities." She dragged out the words, hoping they sounded intriguing but not seductive. _The last thing I need is for him to get the wrong impression._

There was a pause, and then a spasm-like grimace passed over the Sheriff's features. "You're just bluffing. You're just bluffing, because you don't want to die. Am I fooled? A clue? _No." _He spat the word out and turned his back squarely at her.

Rose's shoulders slumped. _Defeated._ _It's over._

"She has a point, my lord."

Rose felt her heart begin beating again. The careless, disinterested voice of Sir Guy had spoken above her head, and the Sheriff turned.

"What point, Gisborne. What. Point?"

"My lord, she managed to steal two bags of gold from your coffers, after being a servant here for only a few days. That shows ingenuity, and a quick ability to learn. Such skills _could_ be useful, when paired with a pretty face and used for our benefit."

The moment's silence, while the Sheriff sucked his teeth and stared blankly at the ceiling, stretched for an eternity. Then he laughed, low, gratingly, and a diabolical smile stretched over his face. "Gisborne, you've had a moment of brilliance. Well, _I_ have. You're still an imbecile. But never mind that!" He clapped his hands and jumped up and down like a demented child. "Oh, it's a gift! A birthday present! Bring me some cake! Haha!" His manic joy passed in a moment and he skittered forward like a great insect. "Gisborne! Come here."

Sir Guy strode forward, and Rose watched, torn between fear and hope as they conferred in low voices. An impudently irrelevant part of her mind insisted on noticing how striking Guy's lean, broad-shouldered, leather-clad figure was when compared with the simpering, shriveled, strangely terrifying Sheriff.

She caught a few words. "The plan, Gisborne—someone on the inside—Hood—never suspect—"

Rose's breath caught in her throat. Considering how a similar proposal, from an entirely different quarter, had been recently levied at her, it was not hard to guess the Sheriff's plot.

_They want an inside spy, to bring them news of Robin Hood…no, no, it can't be—_

The Sheriff turned abruptly and clapped his hands, with a fiercely jocund laugh. "Well then! Thank Gisborne, m'dear. He's saved your life." He tapped his fingers slowly against each other. "However, as I'm sure you might imagine—clever girl, after all—you've gotten yourself a neat little bargain."

"What is the nature of it?" Rose asked, doing her best to hide her fear.

"You have abilities, you tell us." The Sheriff circled around her, and she could tell that he was examining her _very_ thoroughly. It made her skin crawl. "Well, you'll be putting them to good use. We have a little enemy—name's Hood. Not really. Just a nickname. Clever, too—he wears a _hood_, you see. If you_ could—_or if you _would—_help catch _Hood—_then we _should—"_ he stopped rhyming to laugh gleefully at his own wordplay—"be very grateful to you. You have eyes and ears—it would be up to _you_ to find any of the outlaw's allies in the castle. But more than that, we need you to get on the _real_ inside. We need _you_ to befriend the outlaws." He stroked his beard. "Hmm…what do you think, Gisborne? Something that will make them go, 'Ooh! Ooh! Save the poor helpless little damsel!'" He paused, deep in thought. "You could get her pregnant, of course…you're good at that…but that would take too long. We need this to happen _now._"

Rose breathed again.

"Stage something on market day," suggested Sir Guy. He had been watching Rose too, she saw, but she couldn't tell what was going on behind his penetrating ice-blue eyes. "Hood and his gang will be there to step in. They always are."

The Sheriff promptly embraced him, to Guy's obvious disgust and Rose's near-amusement, despite everything. "Excellent thought, Gisborne! Yes, we'll send our little friend here to market, and then have a nasty, mean soldier knock her around. In jump the noble outlaws, saving the damsel in distress, she thanks them—oh, tears and sobs and gratitude—make it _count, _girl—and la-de-da, they're the best of friends." He sighed dramatically. "Perfection. I love it. It's good, very, very good."

"What happens if the outlaws don't come?" Rose ventured. If there was some way she could dissuade them…tears stung her eyes. There wasn't.

"Then, you bold little wench, you'll have gotten a well-deserved beating!" cackled the Sheriff. Sir Guy's lips twisted into a crooked smirk.

Rose swallowed. She didn't like that possibility, but that was a minor concern compared to what was being laid out in the most deadly of plans. Here was she, a newly minted spy for what was right—for Robin Hood's cause—now caught on both edges of the same sword. _I can't betray Robin…but if I don't convince these two that I'm helping them, they…_

"Take her away, Gisborne." He jabbed a finger at Rose. "You, be ready for tomorrow's little show. And, just so we're clear—it doesn't end well for those who try to trick me, use me, or betray me. Not well _at all._" His eyes glittered. "And you'd better not double-cross Gisborne, either. He gets…positively _stabby_ when he's angry."

There was a charged silence, and Rose glanced at Sir Guy, whose jaw was set. There was something else going on here, that she didn't understand, but she had a feeling it wasn't pleasant.

"My lord." Sir Guy inclined his head stiffly, and caught her wrist in his powerful grip once more.

"Goodbye, Gisborne." The Sheriff's mocking voice followed them out into the hall.

Rose's heart was pounding, and her head throbbed with a thousand conflicting thoughts…many of which were directed at the man who was roughly dragging her along with him. She pulled at his arm, causing him to halt. "Sir Guy, I—"

"What?" He turned to her, and his eyes had a weary, haunted look in their icy depths. She didn't understand—could the Sheriff's jibe really have affected him so badly? What could it mean?

"I wanted to thank you," she said haltingly. Part of her knew that she ought to be playing the part of seasoned trickster, a woman of mystery who could break into castle strong rooms at the blink of an eye. But she wasn't that, at least not yet. And he _had_ saved her life.

Yet there was no more humanity in his eyes—she felt suddenly certain that she'd never seen anything bluer—they had become cold and blank. Not entirely blank—a hint of contempt burned in their depths. "Don't thank me."

"But—but—" her voice trembled. The gravity of it all was beginning to come down on her. "You saved my life."

"No, I didn't." Even when he spoke almost hatefully, his voice did the most curious things to her. "I made you useful, for a time. Prove your usefulness, and live."

She nodded, with a nervous attempt at a smile. "I will."

Against her will, he pulled her towards him. She struggled, but it was no use—he was so much stronger than she was. His lips were inches from hers as he whispered. "Prove it to _me._"

She jerked back, frightened, despite her efforts to conceal it. "Leave me alone! I'll fulfill my bargain, and nothing more!"

He smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. "I'm your handler, remember? I'll set the terms of the bargain, and you'll fulfill them _all—_unless you want your friend to suffer."

_Aileen._ The color drained from Rose's cheeks. She felt the steel jaws of the trap closing about her. It was too late even to scream.

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who have been reviewing-if you have a moment, let me know what you think of the latest developments! Reviews are my joy :-)**


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine—Sherwood

"Men, we've a rescue to plan."

"The rescue of the King's…_illegitimate_ child?" asked Much suspiciously, gnawing at a leg of mutton. "But I thought we didn't even know who or where she was!"

"Not her," Robin explained, dishing Marian a second helping of stew despite her protestations. "Love, you're not getting fat. Eat!"

"I am woefully under-exercised," Marian complained, rather petulantly. The constant resting was wearing on her.

Her husband's eyes twinkled. "You're beautiful."

"You're a flirt."

"At least I'm flirting with _you_!"

Marian's lips curved into an almost coquettish smile. "I should hope so."

"Robin, you're not explaining!" cried Much.

"Aye, c'mon you two lovebirds, get on with it!" prodded Allan.

"Lovebirds?" Robin teased, waggling his eyebrows. "Come now, Allan, aren't you holding out on us a bit?"

Allan blushed. "What d'you mean?" He and Kate studiously avoided looking at each other, and Robin chuckled.

"Honey," Much said, shaking his head as one betrayed. "There's some _serious_ honey going on around here. And I, for one, want an end to it!"

"Robin," Tuck put in, ever one to get the gang back to more important matters, "You said we needed to rescue someone."

Robin straightened up, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "Indeed. You know Rose, our newest—" he paused. "I was about to say lad, but Djaq and Kate have suffered under that long enough. There must be a better word."

"Compatriot?" suggested Will, glancing up from the ax he was sharpening.

"Too fancy," grumbled John.

"Just get on with it!" Djaq exclaimed.

"Rose has a friend," Robin said, his playful expression fading. "Her name's Aileen. She has a baby on the way. Do any of you remember Annie?"

There were a few nods, and then a look of understanding dawned on Allan's face. "Our friend Guy's at his old tricks again, isn't he?"

"_Your_ friend Guy, maybe, but he's none too well liked by the rest of us," said Much. Allan elbowed him. "Lay off! That was a long time ago!"

"Let me guess," Will said, giving the ax a final touch. "Gisborne's being none too paternal."

"Right," Robin said, looking grim. "Quite the contrary. Rose says he's been terrorizing her, and Aileen has no family or friends to help her."

"What a monster he is!" Kate exclaimed.

Marian gave a quiet sigh.

"Whatever the state of _his_ soul," Tuck interjected gently, "The girl needs help. Perhaps we can place her with a good family in need of a maid? Do you have one in mind, Robin?"

"Actually I do. Same place we sent Annie and little Seth—it's a big manor, and Lady Glasson is kind. Aileen would do well there, and she and Annie would have children not too far apart in age."

"It's a good plan," Tuck assented. "How do you propose to carry it off? It shouldn't be too difficult—a kitchen girl will not be high on the Sheriff's priorities."

"That's what I thought." Robin nodded. "Tomorrow, we go to Nottingham—Allan and Will, take the girl. The rest of you go about our usual business. Tuck and Kate will stay here with Marian."

"What will you do?" Much inquired.

Robin smiled. "I'll have my first rendezvous with Rose, and see what she has to offer as our newest compatriot."

**A/N: Fun, plotting fluff, right? But what ****_will_**** they find in Nottingham tomorrow? **

**I know, I'll cut it out with these little know-it-all chapter tags. :-) Review please!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: I realize (realized it some chapters ago) that the Sheriff's name is "Vaisey," not "Vassey" (as I've been spelling it). However, for consistency, I'm going to keep it a Vassey if you all don't mind. :-))**

Chapter 30—Guy

He had slept even more restlessly than usual, without knowing why. Once again, Marian haunted his dreams, a vision in white—always with a gruesome red stain blossoming on the front of her dress.

_"Guy, you've disappointed me…"_

_"Guy, I thought better of you…"_

_"I love Robin Hood…"_

He had jolted awake, with a throbbing headache—which, in truth, must be attributed as much to last night's wine as to his nightmares.

Unable to shake off the dull pain, he went through his usual morning routine—strenuous calisthenics before he dressed, and then a light breakfast that was no more, really, than half a loaf and a goblet of wine.

_You've got to stop drinking so much. Headache._

He had never drunk much, before—but since Marian—

Vassey met him the great dining hall. "Ready for the entertainment today, Gisborne? I'd go and watch myself, but that would be too obvious. Pleasure's all yours—make sure to disguise your brooding features. We don't want Hood getting wind of the plan and spoiling it all."

"Yes, my lord." Though the Sheriff had not done anything particularly grating this morning, Guy found it difficult to repress his now near-constant urge to pin the smaller man against the wall with his sword, as he had almost done a few days ago.

_Jibe after jibe, insult after insult. _One day, he would stop taking it. One day, he would be his own man. He'd thought that marrying Marian would accomplish that—that it would finally set him free. But it was never to be. Marian was Hood's. Now and forever.

The thought twisted painfully within him, and he barely could keep himself from wincing.

Vassey grew impatient. "Get going, Gisborne! This plan has to _work_, remember?" He paused and pursed his lips in a falsely sympathetic pout. "Oh, dear. Are we moping again? About a certain—"

Guy stalked out before he could finish.

He snapped his fingers at a loitering guard. "You, come along."

The guard hastened to attention and then followed him. "Yes, sir?"

"We're creating a diversion in town. Follow my orders." Briefly, he explained, wondering if the guard would object to striking a woman. It turned out that the man had no complaints, and Guy felt a sensation of revulsion in the pit of his stomach. _Why should you be disgusted? They're _your_ orders._

_No, they're Vassey's._

_You carry them out; that makes them yours._

He pushed the thought away and strode purposefully towards the kitchen, where Rose was scrubbing the floor. He paused for a moment, observing her—how she set her teeth against her lower lip as she worked, how her finely-drawn profile was highlighted by the morning sun and shadows. _Guy, you idiot._ He could have kicked himself.

"You, there!"

She started and rose, facing him with apprehension but with none of the fear he believed he ought to elicit. "Yes, Sir Guy?" There was something about the way she said his name, that wasn't quite an insult, but nonetheless made it sound as though she weren't overly impressed by him. He folded his arms. "We're leaving."

"Ah yes, for my little staged beating. Delightful." She dropped the rag she had been using for scrubbing in a wooden bucket and followed him reluctantly.

He smirked. "Don't pretend you don't deserve it."

"Why?" she demanded, eyes flashing. "For having principles, or for agreeing to help you? I suppose the second is much to your liking, but the first is an _unpardonable _offense."

He caught her by the shoulder and pressed until she winced. "You forget yourself." It was half a purr, half a growl, as he meant it to be. "Keeping you alive does not mean sparing you punishment for impudence, as I believe I have already promised you."

She turned her gaze away from him, silenced for a moment. It was some moments until she spoke again.

"What does it feel like?"

He stopped midstep. Despite everything, why did she have that effect on him, that he would pause, hold back—pay attention? He didn't know if he wanted to know. "What does _what_ feel like?"

"Not owning your own soul."

It was as though she had punched the air out of his lungs. "It's none of your concern," he snapped, when he finally could.

Her gaze met his, with that innocent yet fearless look that always seemed to play behind her clear gray eyes. "But you don't deny that it's true."

He bared his teeth in a feral smile. "You don't seem particularly in charge of your own soul, at the moment."

She folded her arms defensively across her chest. "Just because I'm working for you, doesn't mean you have my soul."

He shrugged mockingly. "It's only a matter of time, believe me."

She looked away from him, and he felt a pang of something like regret. She was the first person in a long time to speak to him as another human—not with groveling fear as guards and servants did, not with goading authority as the Sheriff did—but with a direct challenge. Fighting words to be sure, but a fight that made the two of them equals. Marian had been much the same.

Marian—once more, the stone seemed to fall, bruising his heart anew. No, there could be no comparison—not between this insolent, spirited serving wench and the divinely beautiful apparition of womanhood that he—that he had done his best to destroy. Once more, the tangled conflict of his grief choked him and he took the easier road—covering his emotions in layers as thick and dark as black leather.

They were nearly there, and so when he spoke to Rose again, it was a matter of giving terse instructions. "Fight back, but let him have the upper hand. You have to look pathetic. Shouldn't be too hard."

"Speak for yourself," she returned, through gritted teeth, and he raised his hand to strike her. She didn't wince, but he saw something like a child's fear behind her bold gaze and lowered his hand, hardly knowing why he did so.

_"Don't be frightened, I won't let him really hurt you," _he said. At least, he meant to say it, but the words stayed, well-meaningly impotent, in his mind. Aloud, he said gruffly, "Get a move on. I haven't got all day."

He pulled aside the guard as they reached the edge of the marketplace. _"Hurt her, and I'll make you wish you hadn't." _Again, it was in his mind. "Make it look real," he growled. The guard laughed rudely and nodded.

He wrapped his cloak around himself, pulling the hood over his face, and watched the scene unfold.

Rose walked and the guard positioned himself in her way. She pretended to ask him to move aside, and when he wouldn't, she decked him one on the jaw. Faintly amused, Guy realized that she had made it look real as well.

The guard caught her by the hair and slapped her across the face, then forced her to her knees where he began to kick her ruthlessly. Guy felt his fists clench.

_"Make it look real." _Had he really said those words a moment ago? Only a monster would say them now, watching the girl—she was so much more fragile than her spirit and fire belied—struggling on the ground. Against her pale, dirt-streaked cheek, Guy saw a line of red blossom.

_Blood._ A woman's blood. He couldn't breathe. How could it be that it had taken this long to realize that he could never, never see another woman bleed without thinking of—

Unconsciously, his gloved fingers closed around the hilt of his sword. He had forgotten the act, the scene, the plan. To separate the guard's loathsome head from his body was the only thought presently occupying his mind.

The hiss and whiz of two arrows surprised them, and the guard yelped as one buried itself in his arm. He let go of Rose's hair and took to his heels.

A green and brown clad figure, with a familiar recurved bow and a well-crafted quiver, vaulted from the thatched roof of a vendor's storefront and moved swiftly to Rose's side.

"Are you alright, madam?" Hood's voice, with its typical veneer of noble concern—Guy sneered—was cut off abruptly. From what Guy could see, a strange expression had spread over the outlaw's face.

Rose murmured something, and then began to cry convincingly. Perhaps that wasn't an act, Guy realized—the guard had not been gentle. Again, he felt that frustrating twinge. _God, in taking from me every other grace, might you not have spared me a conscience, too?_

"It's alright, we'll help you," Hood was saying. He lifted her gently to her feet and drew her into the shelter of a neighboring market stall.

Guy receded into the shadows, realizing with chagrin that, had it not been for Hood's intervention, he might have done something entirely foolish. He removed his hand from his sword. _Don't be an idiot,_ he repeated mentally._ It all went off well, if the girl continues to play her part._

Still, there had been something unexpected—the look on Hood's face when he had helped Rose up. It had been something almost like…recognition?

But surely not, Guy reflected. Perhaps he had imagined it.

He didn't think it mattered—then.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I know that Guy is STILL being a jerk, but there are developments occurring, I promise!**

**Also, he's not stupid for dismissing the little glance between Robin and Rose. I like to think that he sort of has this obsession with ****_wanting_**** to trust people, even though it only causes him pain. Rose may be his enemy at the moment, but he desperately wants to believe that the trustworthiness she exudes is real. **

**Till the next chapter! It's coming soon!**

**P.S. Chapter 30! That means extra reviews, right? ;-)**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Sorry for this delay in updating! This chapter has been hard to write, just because...well, a lot of important stuff goes down. I really hope you like it! I've worked on it, rewritten some parts, and hopefully perfected it. I'm pretty pleased with it, and I hope you are too!**

**This chapter is a bit more T-rated in nature (in my opinion), though nothing serious happens. There's just a lot of tension.**

**Hope the length makes up for the delay. Read and please take a moment to review! ;)**

**Thanks to all my faithful reviewers-MeMane15, UKReader, PokeMaster389, okamiko0688, Icequeencissa, Guest, nick, .31, and ThefadingdaysofMay-you guys are just awesome! Also thanks to those who follow and favorite. :)**

Chapter Thirty-One—Rose

"Rose? What are you doing here?"

Her mouth was dry, and her lips seemed momentarily unable to form an answer to Robin's question.

_You have to! Tell him! Warn him!_

"Robin, something's happened. I can't stay."

His eyes flickered with understanding. "Is this a trap?"

"I don't—it's hard to explain." Rose felt her breath coming in short gasps. She had to do something, figure out how to slip through this, without alerting Sir Guy of her "treachery," and yet without leaving Robin in the dark…_Oh, to be able to just go to Sherwood with him! Leave it all behind!_

_But don't forget Aileen._

Aileen. The name was like an electric shock. "I can't tell you all of it now," Rose explained, finding her voice at last, "But you can't take Aileen today. It's a trap, Robin—I think she's being guarded."

"Guarded?" His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "But why?"

"It's all part of…a mess I've gotten myself into. I—I have to go. But can we…meet again?"

"Tomorrow. I'll drop by." He gave her a reassuring smile, and then grew serious once more. "Rose, if you are in danger—"

"Robin, I'll be fine. But only if I go now. I have to make up a story."

"A story? For what?"

She gave him a wan smile. "I'm playing a part. Strange, really—I've always wanted to be an actress."

He laughed, but there was a note of worry that overshadowed the humor. "Now you're just not making sense."

"I have to go."

"Before you do—" he fumbled in a well-worn leather pouch at his waist. "Just a security measure." He was holding a short, slender dagger.

Rose took it, knowing that it ought to comfort her. Instead, it only heightened her worry. "Thank you." Her voice trembled as she slipped it behind the fold of her girdle.

He pulled up his hood, but before he vanished as usual, he caught up her hand and pressed a respectful kiss to it. "You're a brave lass."

Then he was gone.

Rose touched the cut on her cheek, her composure very nearly dissolving as she prepared to return to Sir Guy. _Think of it as for Aileen…even for your family…_It was necessary, after all, that she maintain this position—for if her father had no other means of income, he would gamble away every penny and there would be nothing to feed Mother and the boys.

_He does that anyway,_ she thought bitterly. _Yet here you are, trying to support his hopeless cause, and getting yourself tangled in the most dangerous of webs. _

_Play the part. _She forced a calm expression onto her face and stepped back out into the square. A heavy, gloved hand descended on her shoulder, and she started and turned. "What?"

"Do you ever address your betters with respect?" Sir Guy raised an eyebrow—very differently than Robin had a mere moment ago.

_Don't answer that,_ Rose warned herself, before she said something entirely foolish. "I met with Hood. I…I told him that I was a poor maid in need of his assistance. He told me to return here tomorrow for some—food." _You had better not forget that now, if that is your story. A pitiful one to boot._

Sir Guy looked long and hard at her, but was not unconvinced. "The Sheriff will be pleased," he said, and then shrugged with what Rose now recognized as his typical look of brooding cynicism. "Well, at least remotely satisfied."

"Can we go now?" His hand was still on her shoulder, and she suddenly felt the need to get away from him.

Seeming to sense what she was feeling, his grip tightened. "In a hurry?"

"Some of us have work to do." It probably wasn't the most deferential thing to say.

He lowered his voice so that it was threateningly intimate. "Have a care. You are bold and insolent, qualities that the Sheriff will be swift to punish you for." Again, the hint of a smirk appeared. "In a different, and more unpleasant way than I would."

_I think they would be equally unpleasant, _Rose retorted inwardly, suppressing the desire to squirm out of his grasp. Better to stand her ground—he had to let her go eventually.

He did, and she walked back to the castle ahead of him, nursing her bruises and an almost more distressing fear that was growing within her.

_I have made too much of an impression on Sir Guy,_ she realized. _This is what Aileen warned me about…._

After the main diversion of the morning, Rose's day passed quickly, if not very enjoyably. It was to her poorly-contained exasperation that Lila and some of the other maids added the origin of her bruises to their gossip list. Then, too, it was impossible to confide in Aileen—Rose knew better than to divulge details about the negotiations with the Sheriff or the situation in which she now found herself. Even the most innocuous parts of the story were tainted by her…intense interactions with Sir Guy—a part of the story that she did not feel comfortable discussing with Aileen, though she scarcely knew why.

_If only Aylmer were here,_ she thought, irrationally. It was truly a symbol of her desperate state of mind, if she were pining for a cat as confidant.

_Oh, Rose, you're not cut out for this. _

_Which part of this?_

All_ of this._

Evening was nearly upon Nottingham when Rose finished scrubbing vegetables—how was it that she was _always_ about that task?—and was casting hopeful glances at the golden sunset streaks, thinking that they heralded night. Rest. Sleep.

Cook billowed into her line of view, holding an enormous bundle of freshly dried linen. "You!" Her thick finger stabbed at Rose.

_Can't even be bothered to remember my name,_ Rose thought, with a stifled sigh. She tried to be courteous. Deferential. It didn't come naturally. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Take these to the upper rooms," Cook commanded, unloading her bundle on Rose's reluctantly outstretched arms. _So much for turning in early, _she moaned inwardly, and then chided herself for her pettiness. _Surely you've bigger things to worry about._

Hastening her steps, she made her way to the main keep, climbing up the broad-stone steps of winding stairways. The long, dim-lit hallways, here and there shimmering with the filtered lights of the swirled glass windows, filled her with an inexplicable sense of dread.

_The last time I walked here, Sir Guy took me the Sheriff…_

As quickly as she could, she replenished each "upper" room (by which Cook had meant the rooms of those who really mattered in the Castle), glancing over her shoulders and cursing herself for her silliness. She _did _think it more than silliness, though, as she entered the Sheriff's vast chamber, with its great dark bed gloating monstrously in the corner and the birdcages swinging in an eerie evening breeze while the birds chirped songs that sounded of captivity and despair.

_Only one more…_she turned down the hall and into a large but sparely furnished chamber. A tousled bed, a table with a wine pitcher and a few goblets, a wooden chest…it was altogether a nondescript room, and she wondered to whom it might belong.

As she laid the linen out on the chest, her foot caught on something lying beside it. Looking down, her eyes fell upon a pair of black leather riding boots.

_Lord above…_Rose shivered with surprise. This was Sir Guy's room.

_I've got to get out of here!_

She dropped the rest of the linen on the chest and made for the door—but as soon as she reached it, it swung open, and the reason for her urgent departure appeared—_loomed_ was a better word—in the doorway.

"Sir Guy!" She had meant for the words to come out with the rather inadvisable confidence which she was used to using with him, but it had dwindled away to nothing.

Confidence, it appeared, was not an issue for the man before her…at least at the moment.

_More ill luck,_ Rose grinned inwardly. "I was only doing chores, I am finished now."

His eyes strayed to the scrambled results of her errand and then returned to hers with a sardonic expression. "I can see that."

"I was just going," she assured him, desperately trying to push down that pesky, timorous-sounding tremor in her voice, and making a pass for the open door.

He closed it with an easy movement. The sound of the catch clicking into place was like a death knell to Rose. She moistened her chapped lips and was silent.

"You're rather more subdued than usual," He remarked, lifting his arched eyebrows.

Was it wrong, Rose wondered, for her to find him…attractive, more so than she ought, considering the circumstances?

"I am tired," she managed, at last. _If I can get around him…I can run round the table and open the door…_

_"_What a shame." He didn't sound overly concerned. "You see, I have other plans."

"What plans?" _Stupid question, Rose. You _never _ask that. _

_I've never been in this situation before!_

"Haven't you guessed?" His eyes pierced through her.

_Yes, I have, but I'd rather not._ "I don't think this is necessary—"

"Necessary? Don't you remember that I promised to punish you for your impudence?" His lips curved into a cruel smile, which somehow made him look all the more handsome.

"Sir Guy, I—"

"I'm as good as my word, I assure you." He had moved forward, and was blocking her escape route around the table now. The wine pitcher—which she might have thrown at him—was behind him on the table.

"Let me go," she whispered. It would look cowardly, she knew, but she took a step back. She couldn't help being frightened—

"I will." He tilted his head, and she hated him for his cockiness. "Eventually."

She took another step back, but her back now pressed against the wall, and the cold stone seemed to seep every last bit of courage out of her. It was happening, happening to her—she could see the terrible reality unfolding before her eyes.

He stood a few paces from her, and with a careless, unstudied movement he tugged his gloves off, tossing them aside. It was a casual gesture, but one that filled her with even more fear. He was as powerful, graceful, and as deadly as a panther. Ready to attack.

"This doesn't have to be unpleasant," he murmured. His voice was so low and rich that it sent thrills through her, thrills that combined with the shivers racing up and down her spine.

_Yes, it does,_ she answered, in her mind, but no words came out between her dry lips as he strode forward and set his hands possessively on either side of her waist. She trembled beneath his touch—no man had ever touched her this way before. It would only get worse, she knew. _He thinks he owns me—that much is clear._

_Think, Rose. You've only about one more second to do anything…_

His lips grazed her ear. "I _will_ have you." He moved one hand from her waist—it made no difference, with one hand he was still much stronger than her—and traced the line of her jaw.

She mentally blurted out the fastest prayer she'd ever said in her life and grasped for the only chance she had.

Just before his lips move to hers, he stopped short, jerking back.

She had her dagger against his throat. "You'll never have me, bastard." She hoped God forgave her the curse. It was a desperate moment, after all.

"What are you doing?" His voice was taut. And well it might be, for the blade tracing his jaw was sharp enough to draw blood.

"Protecting myself," she snapped, and with her other hand—her right hand—she punched him, as hard as she could.

He swore and turned to catch her, but she had moved swiftly and stood by the table now, pointing the dagger towards him with as much aggressive confidence as she could muster.

"Don't—you—_dare_ come closer." _Oh, to have a voice that did not tremble!_ She knew very well that it was utter folly to unskillfully point a dagger at one of the greatest swordsmen in England, but to her surprise, Sir Guy was not reaching for his sword. He was watching her with an almost bemused expression, as though her reaction had been wholly unexpected and even his ready mind knew not what to do next. His face was pale, though the mark of her fist was marked against his cheekbone, revealing on old scar.

A long—very long it felt to Rose—moment passed as he contemplated, and then the mask of malice—twisting his handsome face into as close a resemblance of the Sheriff's wizened visage as possible—slipped over it. "You think you can take me for a fool?" he asked. The words were acrid, and beneath the façade of inhumanity Rose recognized carefully concealed pain.

"No, I only wish to take you for a man who follows…codes of chivalry." Heaven above, _would_ her voice stop shaking?

He sneered_. Rather attractively_, Rose thought, against her will. "Chivalry is dead."

She brandished the dagger. "Not as dead as you'll be, if you try anything, _Sir Knight._"

Again, she expected him to reach for his sword—which hung threateningly at his hip—and again she was surprised when he did not. Instead, he looked at her with a hint of feeling in his eyes—a hint of hurt. "Am I really so repulsive to you?"

She ought not to feel pity for him…ought not to even dream of reassuring him. But there was something in his eyes_—'like a battlefield after the battle is over… when all the brutal glory and cruel passion is fled, and all that is left is brokenness and suffering.'_ Had Aileen's words really had some truth to them?

_What has that to do with it? Monster or man, he'll keep his distance. _"That doesn't matter," she said coldly. "The only thing I want is for there to be a _very_ clear understanding between us."

He was silent, and for some reason Rose found that more unnerving than the angriest or most threatening of words. She was clenching the dagger so tightly that she could feel its grooved handle pressing marks into her skin. "I am working for the Sheriff, and for you. But it will remain _entirely_ a relation of business. I am a valuable asset. I will be treated on my own terms. You _need_ my skills."

Again, she saw the guardedness come over his face again, like dark clouds rolling across the sky, hiding any hope of light. "Skills," he scoffed. "You don't have skills. I know you didn't take the money. You lied to protect your friend. Your fate rests in my hands. And so does hers."

Rose felt her cheeks flush with fury—and anger never increased her limited abilities of diplomacy. "Leave Aileen out of this!" she snapped. "If you think, that by threats, and by entrapments, you will _ever_ gain the affections of a woman, then you are even less of a man than I thought you were."

His voice was hard, scornful. "Your fine words mean nothing to me. You're only a servant girl."

"Yes," she cried, with more passion than caution. "And you're only a man who hides behind cruelty, who won't look at his own shadow because he fears what he'll see there!"

An abrupt silence fell—the most supreme stillness, Rose thought, that she had ever felt. It was as though her words had snapped an invisible thread drawn taut by their parrying of words. Neither of them moved for what seemed like an age, and then Sir Guy strode forward, past her, and opened the door.

"Go," he said. His voice sent a chill through her—it had lost none of its deep richness, but all of its arrogance. It was empty. Weary. As she moved by him, with every filament of her being trembling, she dared a glance at his eyes, and she realized that Aileen had been wrong—looking into Guy's eyes wasn't like seeing a battlefield after the battle was over. It was all still there—the battle as well as the aftermath. He was at war, she saw—always at war—because the battle was inside him. Between him.

_I never thought that….people's eyes told their stories like that…_

Yet his were so beautiful, so blue. She'd never encountered a gaze so keen. She wondered what his eyes had looked like before he had been broken. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but she couldn't, not looking into eyes like those.

So instead, she went.

The door closed behind her with a thud of finality, of ending, of hopelessness. In the dank, frigid stone hallway, Rose took in great, gasping breaths that stopped just short of tears. It was night now—the light had all faded.

She looked back at the closed door, and realized that they were both alone in darkness.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay. I've been writing this over several days. I hope it was worth the wait!**

**Read and Review!**

Chapter Thirty-Two—Sherwood

_"Stay…and make this place bearable."_

Marian twisted, trying desperately to escape the stab of pain that went through her. But it would not be eluded, for it was not caused by her still-healing wound or by a boisterous movement of her growing child.

The pain was in her heart.

"Allan." Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, but Allan looked up from where he was whittling at the fireside. It was midday, the fire had burnt to embers, and they were alone at the camp.

"Right, what is it?" He set aside his work and came to sit beside her.

"Do you ever think about him?"

Allan's clear blue eyes shifted away. "Who?" His cheerful tone was slightly too forced.

"Allan."

He fidgeted. "Guy, you mean."

"Yes."

"Of course." His usually mischievous features were concerned. "But Marian, I don't think we should be chatting about this. If Robin—"

She nudged his shoulder impatiently. "Robin isn't here, at the moment!"

"Alright, alright!" Allan's eyebrows signaled a complete transfer of responsibility onto Marian. "Why d'you want to talk about him?"

"We three…" Marian ground her teeth through a spasm—this time it really _was_ little Locksley trying his or her paces—and then began again, "We three, we were almost friends for a while. And I—I sometimes…" She stopped short, seeing again in her mind the unexpectedly complete and childlike trust that was always haunting the depths of those icy, usually guarded blue eyes. Trust in her. Trust she had broken, as surely as she had broken his heart.

Allan laid a hand on her arm. "Robin aside, I don't think we should be speaking of it. It's only upsetting you, I can see it—plain as plain.

"I have to talk about it. Please."

"Hang it all, then talk!" Allan sighed in defeat.

Marian closed her eyes for a brief moment, watching the pictures slip through her thoughts again. There were so many dark moments—so much vile blackness—but then, too, the light spots were surprisingly numerous.

"Do you remember when he found out I was the Night Watchman, and saved me anyway?"

"I'm not bein' funny," Allan retorted, "But _I_ saved you."

"You both did," Marian murmured, trying to erase the image of the shy, hopeful smile that had crept over his face after she thanked him. _"Stay…"_

"He was an odd bloke," Allan reminisced, with something almost like fondness in his tone. "Couldn't take a joke, for the life of him, especially when he was in one of his 'moods.'"

"More than a wonder he didn't kill you," Marian reminded him.

"I know, right?" Allan shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know but what we were almost friends, instead. Strange, how it all turns out."

_Almost friends…_ Marian reflected. _It's true, it would be hard to find true friendship with Guy. There are so many walls…_ Aloud, she rejoined, "Did he ever talk about…" the sentence fell away unfinished.

Allan looked pointedly her. "About you?"

"Yes." She didn't know why she wanted to know, she only knew that she _did_.

"I don't think we ought to talk of it," Allan hedged, resuming his whittling.

"_Allan._" The reprimand slipped from her tone, and only a plea remained. "Allan, I know that I broke his heart. I only need to know how badly."

"Why now?"

"What?"

"Why now?" Allan's bright, usually cheerful blue eyes were almost hard as he regarded her. "It doesn't matter anymore, does it? You're married to Robin. We're all together again. Giz is alone."

She noticed he still hadn't dropped his needlesome yet almost affectionate (in that teasing, nagging, younger-brother sort of way) nickname for Guy. "I—I don't know why now. I…I have been bedridden for weeks, Allan. It leaves one time for thought. And Guy…is someone about whom my thoughts remain unresolved." She toyed aimlessly with a spring of herbs that Djaq had dropped in her bunk. "That is not to say, of course, that I am unfaithful to Robin. It is only—it is only that I cannot erase the past."

Allan relented and became his usual teasing self again. "Well, you did lay one on him that time."

Marian flushed and flailed her fist at him, without success, remembering that fateful kiss. "It was necessary!"

"'Course it was."

"I was only acting."

"You were very convincing." Allan grew serious again. "To answer your question before, he didn't speak of you a lot. He doesn't speak much to anyone about that sort of thing. But…"

"But?" Marian promoted. She knew that Allan was hiding something.

"Robin would kill me if he found us talking about this," he groaned.

"Grow up. Robin isn't here."

Allan resumed his story. "After I—we—saved you with the Night Watchman trick, and after you had thanked him, he came out of your room."

"You were waiting?" Marian rolled her eyes, endeavoring to hide the heightening of her interest—and something that flared of regret.

"Why, certainly! Had to make sure he came out again, leaving your honor intact, and all that," Allan replied. The twinkle in his eyes quickly faded. "I'd never seen him look like that—like someone had handed him the world and he hadn't a clue what to do with it. And he just turned to me, looked straight at me with that rock-splitting stare—" Marian knew the one—"Only it was a happy one, and then he just sort of whispered, 'She'll stay. She said she'd stay.'"

A silence fell after that. Marian felt like reaching down to wrench the sword from her wound once more, but the sword wasn't there. At least, not there where she could touch it, or make it stop hurting.

"He loved you," Allan said, and there wasn't a trace of humor in his voice.

"I know." Marian's voice sounded almost as small as she felt. Her eyes grew hot with tears that she didn't want anyone to see. "He could have been a good man."

Allan brushed away a golden curl of wood with his knifeblade. "Maybe he still can be."

"I hope so." Marian's thoughts could not be as optimistic as her words. _You broke him_, an inner voice accused. _He tried so hard—tried to build some semblance of the man you wanted, and you shattered it all._

_I had to,_ she argued.

_You did,_ the voice assented. _That is the tragedy._

"You two are awfully quiet," broke in a new voice—a cheerful voice, a voice that Marian loved. But she started guiltily at the sound of it, hoping and praying that Robin hadn't heard the recent conversation.

He hadn't. He sat down comfortably by the fire, near Marian, and took her hand in his. "It's cold,' he murmured. "Is there a chill? Do you need something?"

"I'm alright," she assured him, and it was true. It was easy to forget about Guy when Robin was there beside her—dear, dear Robin—and even Allan's careful attempts at concealing a rather conscious expression did not affect her as strongly as they might have a moment ago.

"What news from the castle, Robin?" Allan asked, after a pause that had stretched slightly too long.

Robin looked grim. "I met with Rose again. There's trouble afoot—you remember, Allan, how I had to call off the rescue?"

Allan nodded, and Robin went on, "It was because of a development. Aileen—Rose's friend—stole two moneybags from the treasury."

"Blimey," Allan remarked mildly. "Bad luck for her."

Robin nodded. "She got caught, of course. By Sir Guy."

At his name, Marian flushed a bit. Robin wasn't observing her, however.

"Sir Guy brought her back—heartless fiend that he is, when she's carrying his child—and would have turned her into the Sheriff. But Rose—"

"Rose took the blame on herself," Marian interjected. Robin looked surprised.

"Right you are. How did you know?"

Allan chuckled. "'Cause she would have done the same, of course."

Robin smiled and laid his hand affectionately against Marian's cheek. "Of course. I should have guessed as much." The smile slipped into a hard line as he finished recounting the story. "Rose took the blame, but managed to talk her way out of execution—making the Sheriff think that she was a clever thief. So, he's hired her—spy on us and our doings, in exchange for her life."

There was a silence—an uncomfortable one, Marian knew, for Allan's sake. He, too, had been offered such a deal…but he had taken it without telling Robin, had become a double agent without compunction, at least immediately.

Robin, considerately, did not look at Allan at the moment. Instead he went on calmly. "Rose came to me for help. Aileen's being kept in the castle as leverage, in case Rose tries to escape. She wants us to rescue Aileen, same as before—but it's a real rescue now, with real consequences."

"Get them both out," Allan suggested. "The Sheriff won't be pleased if she doesn't bring information, and she's clearly not going to."

There was a long pause as Robin mulled it over. At last he said, "Aileen has to be gotten, that's certain. But Rose—Rose could stay. She's useful to us on the inside, and she wants to help."

"But the information!' Allan exclaimed, and Marian agreed, reiterating her former claims. "You know the Sheriff, Robin. He will not be satisfied with anything less than a full tale."

A mischievous smile spread over her husband's features then. "Then _we'll t_ell the tale," he said softly.

**A/N: So, did you like it? I thought a Marian/Allan conversation about Guy would be interesting, as they were in close contact with him…I hope it turned out to your liking! Let me know in a review!**


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three—Guy

**A/N: Hey everybody, I'm back! And I'm sorry. Life has been crazy. I wasn't stopping this story or anything, I just had a shift in authorial interest and was writing some other stuff—also, I had some brainstorming to do for this one. I hope this (short-ish, sorry) scene is enjoyable! It has Guy in it, after all ;) **

**Hoping to start updating frequently again! I appreciate the support, the reviews, the PMs, the favorites, the follows—all of it, more than I can say!**

**~TolkienGirl**

Guy had not even tried to sleep.

He had stood all night, near motionless, gazing into the darkness through his window that seemed yet lighter than the darkness that hung invisibly around him. His mind had wandered far that night—through England, to the Holy Land, to Normandy, but as the touches of dawn brightened the eastern sky, he was in England once more, watching the fiery wreckage of his family's home crumble before his eyes. Moments later, he and Isabella had been banished…or he had, and she had come with him…

His sister. He had not seen her for many years, and he rarely thought of her. It was easier to keep those memories in shadow.

_Like everything else._

Rose's words, flung at him last night, rose to the surface, beneath which they had been haunting him for hours. _"You're only a man who won't look at his own shadow because he's afraid of what he'll see there…"_

The words had stung—no, had burned. He could not shake off the searing implications of weakness that had clung to them, and he wished that he had responded with more aggression. He should have struck her for that, a blow that said words he was too proud to—_"You would not want to see what lies behind me. You, too, would be afraid."_

But he had not raised a hand against her—nay, he had been seemingly softened by that, letting her go. The light had gone with her.

_Why did you let her go?_

Surely it would have been better than a blow to have his way with her, to show her who was lord and master.

The beginnings of sunlight streaked across the sky, and the air grew lighter. It seemed to illuminate, unbidden, some part of his mind that had lain dormant since he had last trusted in Marian.

_I do not regret letting her ago, _he realized—realized quietly, lest the Sheriff might have wormed his way into every corner of his mind and be listening to his very thoughts._ Everything else, yes, but not that._

Instead of wishing to punish her further for her continuing and strangely (disconcertingly) mesmerizing impudence, Guy found himself wishing that there was some way he could show her that he—that he was sorry.

He felt helpless—an unpleasant sensation that he avoided at all costs. He had no idea how to make amends to women—and usually, he didn't. There had only been one other who had ever elicited remorse from him; much less received some sort of apology.

And now, another?

_A gift. You can give her a gift._

Hope flared within him a moment, only to be quenched the next by the remembrance that Marian had cared little for his gifts. He had no doubt that Rose would respond with similar disdain. What they did not understand was that riches, power, trinkets—that was all he could give them. He could not change for them. Could not be a good man. Could not offer an uncorrupted heart.

_And why would you want to? _Bile of bitter anger rose up against the tentative, desperate attempts at reconciliation. _Marian, a traitor. Rose, a serving wench._

The anger was mixed with shame. To even compare Rose with Marian seemed a breach of honor. Marian, the traitor, the lover of Robin Hood—the love of his life, despite all that, to even be captured in the same thought with this upstart maid?

_It is only because she is beautiful that you think of them together. Love has nothing to do with it._

Yet not only their beauty seemed entwined—their goodness was, too. That terrible, unshakable goodness that had haunted his every moment with Marian, that had given strength to his arm when he wielded his sword in the desert heat—

_If this maid is careless, her fate may be more painful, and more permanent,_ he decided, letting his lips twist into a sneer for which there was no audience, but which comforted him (tortured him?) all the same. He tried to be pleased with this concluding the thought—the last thought he would permit himself for his morning reverie. It was time to go down to (reluctantly) greet the day.

But a part of him still wondered, in the pale light of dawn, if it was time to recognize that destroying every bit of good around him only hastened his own destruction.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Hello! Sorry this has been so long in the making—it's extra-long to make up for it! There are three different Rose scenes in it, which I chose to cram together because of the structure of the story. I hope that you all enjoy it! I am aware that I made the Sheriff very creepy in this part…sorry if that bothers anyone. I just feel that this insane, creepy psycho angle really suits how I'm interpreting him in this story…**

**Also, please let me know what you think (or would like) to happen next! :D It ends on a bit of a cliffhanger!**

**Thank you to everyone for your lovely reviews—90 reviews! Seriously, that's wonderful! I've decided to give a free one-shot to whoever my 100****th**** reviewer is…basically, I'll make mention of whoever it was, and ask them what they want…anything about Robin Hood characters (obviously, it will have to be within the bounds of what I do/don't do—check out my profile J) but I thought that would be a nice little gift in return for all the love you've shown my little story!**

Chapter Thirty-Four—Rose

The sun had risen nearly to noon height, and Rose felt the golden warmth soaking through her threadbare sleeves. The garden was not nearly half weeded—but she had been going slowly, and keeping a sharp eye out for a lithe, brown-and-green clad figure.

Robin had said he would "drop by" today, and noon seemed as good a time as any—the guards were less watchful, hanging about the kitchen in hopes of garnering more than their usual meal rations.

Rose tugged at a particularly stubborn weed, and then sank back on her heels. Belying her inexperience as a spy, she had already managed to garner some information: the latest tax collection, which had been brought in that morning in an assortment of chests, had not been counted yet. The Sheriff's accountant had done something displeasing, and was—so Lila had said (Rose could not bring herself to look)—dangling from the gallows at this moment.

_If it's not counted, Robin might be able to ferret some of it out without being discovered._ The thought was at first distasteful; that stealing was wrong was a strongly impressed opinion on her mind, but she knew very well indeed that the money did not belong to the Sheriff, but had been unjustly wrested and would be unjustly used.

She had overheard the news from some thoughtless guards, who had been discussing it in what they plainly believed to be "hushed tones." A combination of their incomprehension of the word "hushed" and Rose's sharp ears had done the job quite neatly.

Rose smiled at the thought of having something so valuable to tell Robin, but then a shadow crept over her thoughts.

_I'm going to make him think that I'm good at this._

She sighed. _I could not be any less good at this._

Try as she might, she couldn't keep her mind from drifting back to her encounter—if that it could be called—with Sir Guy on the previous night.

She had been so close to danger—but just when she was certain that every hope for his humanity was misconstrued…that there was no man behind the monster, he had…

He had let her go.

She had not slept. She had wished to forget it all in dreams of home, but instead, she had found herself tossing and turning, still fancying herself imprisoned by his arms and eyes.

_He did not hurt me—he could have, but he did not. Surely that must mean that there is some good in him…_

But a moment's goodness could not erase the shadow which she had accused him of fearing.

Rose touched the stinging cut on her cheek, remembered how callously he had treated her yesterday morning, and how threateningly in the evening—a passing semblance of chivalry was not enough.

Disgust rose in her, mingled with fear and, despite her resolve, a touch of pity. Then, too, there was something deeper—something far more dangerous…a feeling that she dared not acknowledge.

_Does he _have_ to be so handsome?_

She blushed wildly at the thought, then paled at her memories. The soft _hsst_ of Robin's now somewhat familiar voice was a welcome interruption.

"You look rather off this morning," he said, mysteriously managing to infuse words that were not complimentary with enough charm that she did not look offended.

"I—I am weary after yesterday. It was rather trying."

His sharp eyes softened with concern as they took in the cut on her cheek. "You're hurt, still. That scratch looks painful."

"It's nothing." The bruises on her ribs, which he could not see, of course, were far worse.

He shook his head, leaning on his bow and locking gazes with her. "You're the bravest of the brave," he told her admiringly. "To set yourself on the line like that, for your friend—even playing the Sheriff."

"You don't feel betrayed?"

"Me? No. You _told _me what was going—didn't leave me in the dark." His face seemed clouded with a sudden memory.

"I have news for you," she said, casting a quick glance about to see that they were undetected. Robin seemed perfectly at ease, but she could not. Briefly, she told him of the uncounted taxes.

"Well done!" he complimented her, when she had finished.

Rose shook her head, deflecting the praise for fear that it would further validate her abilities in Robin's eyes. "It was little more than eavesdropping."

Robin pressed his lips together, thinking hard. Then his eyes brightened. "This will be useful."

"It will be counted tomorrow, I am sure of it. When will you and your men be able to steal it? It must be done today, and secretly—if you take less than the whole, the Sheriff will be none the wiser, and he will not punish the people of Clun."

"That was my thinking," Robin agreed. "But I think there's a better way to use this to our advantage. _Your_ advantage."

"Me?"

Robin paced back and forth, his green eyes crackling with energy as he sketched out the plan. "This afternoon, a weapons shipment is being sent to Lord Gregory of Sussex. The Sheriff is hoping to buy his allegiance. What he doesn't know is that Lord Gregory is secretly a supporter of the King."

"And so of you," Rose put in. She didn't know where Robin was going with this plot, but she tried to wait patiently and listen closely. Doubtless, every detail was important, and Rose knew better than to indulge her lifelong habit of being distracted and forgetful when someone was giving her instructions.

"As such," Robin continued, "We had no plans to attack the convoy. But the Sheriff doesn't know that. Why not give him what he expects?"

"So you _will_ attack the shipment?"

Robin's eyebrows lifted innocently. "Oh, yes. And you'll tell the Sheriff about it."

"That way, he'll intercept you, and you will seem to have failed, when you really had no intention of taking the weapons in the first place."

"Exactly," Robin grinned. "And you will seem to be a very accomplished spy indeed.

"Seem?" Rose felt another tickle of worry in her chest. "But I'm not."

"Appearances are everything," Robin teased, with another cocky smile. He grew serious and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You'll do wonderfully."

Rose tried to believe him. "I don't understand, though, what this has to do with the tax money."

"That's the mark," Robin explained. "The rest is just a diversion."

"But—if you are off creating a diversion, then who is taking the taxes?" As the question left her lips, Rose felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had guessed the answer. "That would be me, wouldn't it."

Robin's face, which had heretofore been almost gleeful at the prospect of his own clever plan, grew suddenly grave. Rose caught another glimpse of the warrior, the leader behind his eyes. Though she knew nothing of kings, she thought that he could be one.

"Rose, if you cannot bear the risk and danger, I understand. I do not demand, I only ask."

"No, I'll do it." She did not know why, while she was still nearly trembling from what had passed between her and Guy, she was so eager to leap back into danger.

_It's because you know that the danger is already all around you. You can't escape it. Why not be part of it—fight for something worthwhile?_

"How?" she asked simply.

He outlined her approach quickly but thoroughly. "Djaq will meet you near the west entrance. She's a genius with disguise—you'll have to look carefully. Carry only what you can without drawing attention to yourself. Risk a second trip only if you feel confident that you can do so without rousing suspicion." He glanced about. "I've lingered too long, I'm afraid." He looked closely at her. "Are you sure you're alright? You haven't had to use my dagger yet, have you?"

The question hit uncomfortably close to the truth. "No…" she lied, forcing her voice to be steady. Was it really a lie? She hadn't actually _had_ to use it…for some reason, she did not wish Robin to know of what had happened with Sir Guy. Whether she was trying to protect her reputation, her position as a fledgling outlaw, or by some confusing stretch protecting Sir Guy (_why ought I to give a thought to him? He does not need protecting!)_ she did not know.

"Good." Robin smiled, relief crinkling the laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes. "Have a care, Rose. Bravery can turn to recklessness, as my men constantly remind me."

"You've never struggled with _that_ balance, I'm sure," Rose said, with a laugh. She didn't want him to leave thinking her frightened or unsure.

"Never!" he assured her. A guard strolled across the nearby courtyard and Robin tugged his hood over his face. "Farewell for a little while, fairest spy and serving maid. Meet Djaq at the West Gate at four o'clock. You can get away?"

Rose nodded. "Aileen can cover for me."

Robin answered the unspoken question that the name held. "It should be only a few more days before we can get her out. I promise."

Rose smiled. "I'll breathe easier when she's safe. Thank you."

"Now, plan for your meeting with Vassey!'

He was gone before she could answer. She stood alone in the garden, cold with fear at the prospect, with no plan at all.

Rose paused before the Sheriff's quarters, her heart fluttering in her throat like the wings of the birds behind the great oak door in front of her.

Should she swagger in, trying to show an alluring confidence she did not have?

Or should she maintain the remote, elusive, aloof demeanor that had saved her neck (for now)?

She chose the latter, for it seemed safer. Whatever happened, she must not show how she really felt—fearful, abandoned, and with the knowledge that she was utterly out of her league.

The doors swung open with a forbidding groan that did nothing to help her nerves.

The room was in shadow, but for the light from the windows, whose golden beams sliced eerily through the darkness.

The black silk pajama-clad figure who ought not to be intimidating but _was_, stood silhouetted in one of the windows, hands clasped behind his back. Rose looked about hurriedly, but there was no towering, lounging figure clad devastatingly in black leather, whose aquiline features held a strange nobility which belied his rapid changes between brutality and inscrutability, whose mesmerizing blue eyes transfixed her with something like terror, with impermissible longing. Yet she would have felt safer if he were here—surely, he would have protected her from this horrible little man, in whom evil seemed to be a malignant growth.

_But can he protect you from himself? Think of last night…or not just that every encounter you've had with him…he is to be feared and fought, not trusted…_

She had no time to muse further, for Sheriff Vassey, who had been humming with shrill, tuneless complacency, had swung sharply round to greet her, with the calculating politesse of a cat hunting a mouse.

"You?" The Sheriff smiled incredulously. "What, have you come back for another beating? A hanging? Both?"

Rose swallowed and willed an enigmatic smile onto her face. "No, sir. I have news. News of Hood."

He scuttled forward with worrying rapidity. "Well then? Spit it out. Don't just stand there."

Rose tried to ignore the thumping of her heart as she outlined Robin's 'plan' to steal the weapons shipment. When she had finished, there was a long pause.

"Nicely done." The Sheriff's tone insinuated that he thought it far from satisfactory, but had not yet decided why. Just as Rose was about to breathe again, he cocked his head to one side. "But why…would _Hood_ confide in you? His trust is not easily learned."

_Come, Rose, you've got to find a way out of this too—_she moistened her chapped lips and let out an amused laugh that she hadn't know she had in her. "Confided? The outlaw? Never. However as you may notice, your guard has rather…touched me up a bit, in our little 'act' of yesterday. I went to seek their aid. The Saracen knows medicine. As she was tending to me, I 'fainted.' They then—at a distance, but I have good ears—felt that it was safe to converse. I caught scraps, but I caught enough."

"Ah, very good, very good." The Sheriff seemed almost to have lost interest in Robin's part of the tale. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the cut that striped across her cheek. "Yes, yes, a little worse for wear." He came forward with that disconcerting quickness and pressed his thumb against her cheek, making her inhale painfully.

"Ooh, does it hurt? Does it sting?"

"It _is_ a cut, sir." _Oh, Rose, boldness will get you nowhere._

"So it is!" His gaze met hers, and she felt a chill. "Just think…a little sting, a little ache—ooh, ooh! It hurts—but if you were to betray me…this would be as _nothing_ compared to what I would do to you."

She was silent.

His eyes traced the lines of her throat like clammy, grasping fingers, and she shuddered—a mistaken move, for it was all the prompting he needed to actually close his hand around her chin.

"You _are_ a pretty little thing," came his voice—but there was no passion in it. For some reason, the blank tones of his nasal voice were more terrifying than anything she'd ever known. Last night, she had feared Sir Guy's unbridled desire, but for all his unpredictability, _he_ was not wholly amoral…something she had said had stirred him. The Sheriff was different. He was a man who would take and hurt and conquer because he could…not because it mattered to him, not because he felt a _need_ to do so. She wondered, then, if his only true need was the knowledge that he had the power to do anything.

"My lord," she said, for that title seemed to pacify him, "Have your leave to go? Hood moves quickly—when he attacks that shipment, you'd better be ready."

He released her with his hands but not his eyes. "True enough, I suppose. But I'm quite enjoying this little interview. Pity—it's a pity Gisborne isn't here for it too. You know, I thought he quite fancied you the other day…in that _way_ of his, so charming. So winning. Did you hear what he did to the last one?"

Rose _would_ not be interested, but her pulse—quick beneath his fingertips, still about her throat—betrayed her.

"Oh, you _don't _know." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I won't spoil the surprise, then."

"What does Sir Guy have to do with this?" she asked. She had been so good at keeping calm, but she could feel a tremor reentering her voice. _I'm not use to this—how am I supposed to hold it together? I'll break…_

"Well, I thought you seemed a bit—irked, just now, at the slightest display of _affection_ from me. My dear, that's too bad! It made me wonder if you'd be more…receptive, to Gisborne's affections. Well, I say affections. The point is—I love when things have a point, don't you?—the point is that I like to file away little tidbits…little cracks in the armor. It's delightful. So you like Gisborne? Or maybe you don't? He's generally thought more handsome than I—but what a lie. He's so dark and broody, whereas _I_ am sunshine and daisies!" His voice rose tonelessly but sharply with the last words, and it was all Rose could do to contain her repulsion. His words might seem to suggest a flirtation, but she could easily see that this man had no interest in her as anything more than a plaything—another plaything to add to his collection.

_That's why he hates Robin…Robin would never be his plaything…_

"My lord, time is passing."

"Time does that, doesn't it?" He stared up at the ceiling, mouth slightly agape, his hand still at her neck. Then abruptly, he released her. "Alright, you can go."

She went, but the next words followed her—_"This time."_

Rose pressed her back against the cold stone of the castle hall.

_One more trip…I think I can risk it…_

So much had happened in the past few hours. A battalion of guards had ridden out, pounding towards the trail of the weapons' convoy.

At four o'clock, a humble cheesemonger had brushed against Rose's arm. She had turned to see Djaq's intense eyes meeting hers. "Quickly. I've gotten a basket of washing, for you to use…"

After that, it had been all heartbeats and hushed footsteps. Once inside the strong-room—which was less heavily guarded than usual, because of the detachment to meet Robin—she had trembled as the cold, heavy gold slipped through her fingers into the leathern sacks.

_A thief…full-fledged at last…_she was simultaneously ashamed, electrified, and terrified by the thought.

She had been there and back three times—but when Djaq had looked through her spoils, she had frowned. "I am sorry," she had said slowly. "I have failed you—forgotten one of the orders. There is a ring. Robin asked especially that you find it….you see, it is very precious to the family that owns it. It was taken by force, and it is all that they had. Robin wished it to be returned."

Rose had swallowed and nodded. "We have a few more moments. Describe it?"

"Silver inlaid with gold. There is a large stone—purple. Yes, purple. It is an heirloom."

"I'll get it." Perhaps the confidence with which Rose forcibly infused her tone welled over into her spirit, for she suddenly felt without a doubt that she _could_ do it. With fleeting footsteps, she raced down the hallway again, unhindered this time by the basket or the promise of a heavy prize.

Inside for the last time, she scrabbled through the chests. _By all the Saints…God, if it's not wrong to help an honest thief…_

Her fingers closed around a purple-gemmed ring, silver inlaid with gold.

Cheeks flushed with anticipation of success, she scrambled to her feet, tucking it in her belt.

_Finished…_

She spun about, and realized that she _was_ finished, but in a very, very different way.

Sir Guy stood in the doorway.

**A/N: Review! Pretty please! :)**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Sorry this didn't come as soon as it ought to have! Enjoy! =)**

**Remember, 100th viewer gets a free RH one-shot!**

Chapter Thirty-Five-Sherwood

To all but a bird's eye view, the road that led out of Sherwood was tranquil. But if one gazed down from the treetops, one would have seen three brown and green-clad figures, lying in wait among the underbrush.

"You know, the Sheriff'll think he won this round."

Robin chuckled at Allan's gloomy tone. "Cheer up! Let him get his confidence up for once. Sparing ourselves a few laurels this time is worth giving Rose a chance to get in on the Sheriff's good graces…if those words and he are on speaking terms."

"Can we really trust this Rose person?" asked Much, poking his head out above a patch of gorse, which seemed to be prickling him. "She did save us that once, which was all very well, but what is keeping her on our side? Others who owed us more have betrayed us."

"Lay off!" cried Allan, aggrieved. "Am I ever going to live that down? It was a mistake, I know, but I'm right tired of saying sorry, 'specially to _you_."

Robin raised his hand for silence. "Rose has asked for only one favor—that we help her friend, Aileen. I will vouch for her honesty and loyalty."

"That's another question," Allan said, quick to put the subject of traitors behind them. "How're we supposed to get her servant friend to safety?"

Robin's brows drew together. "If we rescue her outright, Gisborne may suspect that Rose has gone back on their bargain and is allied with us."

"Gisborne?" Allan was startled. "What's he got to do with it again?"

"He caught Aileen when she ran away, Rose turned herself in, and struck a deal with the Sheriff," Much reminded him, with a display of patience. "But Rose told Robin that Gisborne suspects she didn't actually steal the money, but she only said she did to save Aileen."

"So Guy—Gisborne suspects the truth, then."

"Yes."

"Well, he's not stupid," Allan murmured. This observation was met by stony silence from his two companions. He cleared his throat. "Look, here it comes!"

Heralded by his words, a heavily laden covered wagon rolled around the bend. Before and behind it rode a score of armed guards.

Allan whistled. "Well, looks like Sheriff took her at her word."

Robin grinned. "It's perfect." He leapt down from the bank and swaggered into the road. "I am Robin Hood, and this is an ambush!"

It was over quickly. The outlaws' challenge was to fight practically enough to survive while being clumsy enough to be easily vanquished. As five spears were aimed at Robin, he shouted, "Retreat!" and they fled into the woods.

"Tell the Sheriff this is not over!" Robin shouted, infusing his tone with anger and chagrin. "We will—" he allowed his voice to be drowned out by the laughter of the soldiers.

"Not so bold now, eh, Locksley?" scoffed the captain. "Admit it, you've been beaten!"

"If you only knew—" Much began to retort hotly, forgetting himself, but Robin clapped a hand over his mouth.

"If we only knew what?"

"How we will repay you, filthy dogs!" Allan finished glibly.

"Much, you can't blow the cover by explaining it to them!" Robin hissed, as they ran deeper into the forest.

Much reddened with shame. "I forgot myself, Master," he mumbled. "I—"

Robin gave him a forgiving smile. "Worry not, my friend. No harm was done."

They were nearing the camp, and Much brightened as a toothsome aroma wafted towards them. "That came off well, even though it was humiliating. Now for supper!"

Tuck was stirring something over the fire, and he beamed broadly as they approached. "We are blessed this evening—a kind farmer gifted us with two chickens."

"Now that is something to be thankful for!" Much sighed contentedly. "What are we waiting for?"

"We were waiting for you, and Djaq," Kate explained, from where she was giving Marian a dose of one of Djaq's herbal draughts.

Robin frowned. "Djaq—she's not back yet?"

Will shook his head gravely. "It's not like her to be late. Could something have gone wrong?"

Robin laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let us hope not."

"Perhaps," said Marian, "Rose was not ready for this. I worry for her, Robin—from what you tell me she has a good heart, but no training."

Robin ran his hands through his hair. "I was hasty. I hope I do not live to regret it."

There was a silence for a few moments. It was broken by the entry of Djaq, who was nearly stumbling under the weight of a heavy-laden basket.

The relief that hung in the air for a moment faded at the look on her face. Will was at her side in an instant. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Gently, Djaq put away his hands. "I am well."

"What happened?" Robin's voice was tense.

"Rose went in a last time, for the ring, and did not return. I waited, but I could not stay—it was dangerous." Djaq sighed heavily. "Robin, I fear she may be in trouble."


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Ok, the one you've all been waiting for! I really hope it lives up to everybody's expectations…it's nice and long for sure :-)**

**I really appreciate all the reviews, the favorites, the follows, and even just the views. It's so lovely to read your kind words. ThreeHundredStarsAbove, when you said that you wanted this story to go on forever—wow, that made me feel really great! Thanks for that! UKReader, I love that you PM me about this story every now and then! It's awesome! All my other reviewers are awesome too. Every time somebody reviews for the first time, it makes my day ten times over!  
Guest Kerstin from Germany—thanks for reviewing, and if you or anybody would like to translate this into a different language, that would be amazing! Thank you!**

**Ok, so without further ado…the chapter…**

Chapter Thirty-Six—Guy

The hollow sound of his own footsteps rang in his ears as he strode down the hallway. Solitude was his, but for a few moments only—the Sheriff would shortly be joining him.

Guy felt the ghost of a sigh escape his lips. He had no desire to gloat over the yet-uncounted tax collection—Vassey had chosen an inconvenient time for the demise of his accountant. Gold could bring Guy no contentment. It reminded him too much of memories that pricked him as acerbically as a rose's unexpected thorn. Gold was wedding rings, dowries, and a gaudy, desperate wedding gift that lay yet untouched, hidden impotently in a locked room in Locksley Manor.

To cut to the chase of the matter—of his heart—gold reminded him of Marian. As did everything—like or unlike, she drew comparisons to all that he encountered.

She was always all around him.

His footsteps grew quieter, slower, under the weight of his musings. He wondered how long it would be thus—that in every moment (waking, sleeping, dreaming) he was reminded of her innocent eyes and secretive smile, haunted by his yearning to hold her in his arms—and crushed by the knowledge that it was never to be, that he had pierced those hopes—every hope—with a single thrust of his sword.

_But no, there were never any hopes,_ he told himself, the memories blackened with a sudden surge of bitterness. There had always been Robin. It was always going to be Robin. _She would never have cared for you…you, the cruel coward, who is afraid to look at his own shadow…_

"Marian…" the name fell from his lips like a prayer. And indeed it was—she was the only deity he had ever worshiped, the only angel for whom his adoration had approached some semblance of sanctity.

He was not a religious man. A vague respect for the cloth was all that lingered of the pious lessons of his youth. The last time he had darkened the door of a church had been for his wedding, a day which he had pushed to the farthest recesses of his mind.

He had once doubted if even Marian could save his soul. Now he was certain she could not. He was a man who had learned his many vices as diligently as children studied their virtues.

A sound—of metal—reached his ears, and he stiffened. It was coming from the strong-room, and now that he had determined its location, he easily recognized it as the clink of coins.

Every carefully concealed thought of tender remorse dissipated, and he felt the felt the ferocity of the beast rising in his veins, the burning desire to punish and destroy, to make something bleed…other than his heart.

He drew his sword in a fluid motion, ready to attack. At best, it would be a light-fingered guard who could be summarily dealt with. At worst, it might be an outlaw raid…though they were supposedly having an unpleasant surprise with the weapons convoy.

He flung open the door.

The shock of it stunned him. Here was no guard, no outlaw—but instead, a slender figure who had, of late, occupied his mind second only to Marian.

_Rose._

She looked more horrified than he felt.

Conflicting impulses converged upon his mind, howling with all the might of his inner demons. _You've caught her…she's a common thief…you have the upper hand now, she doesn't have an escape—she no longer holds the moral high-ground, you can do with her what you will…_

_She is frightened…she needs someone to protect her…protect her from the Sheriff…_

There was only one thought that stood uncontested—inexorable, and terrible.

_The Sheriff will kill her._

The Sheriff—Vassey would be here at any moment—

He had no time to think, but Rose's frightened eyes—ringed with clear, stormy gray around her dilated pupils—confirmed a single sure decision despite his inner turmoil. He did not know what he would do with her—how, if, he would punish her for her lies and thieving.

But he would not let her die.

The nasal, impetuous, imperious voice that might be the master of both their fates was heard in the hall. Guy, without even permitting himself to acknowledge that what he was doing was tantamount to betrayal—_just as it always was with Marian, you fool—_he jerked his head in the direction of an alcove in the wall and hissed "_Hide!"_

Rose obeyed him—for what was probably the first time in the history of their acquaintance, he observed wryly—and scrambled quickly into the shadows.

Vassey shuffled into the room, his sandals flapping. He stopped short, his too-sharp eyes darting around, and raised his hands in a gesture that was, to Guy's nervous gaze, momentarily unreadable. Then the Sheriff sighed with ecstasy. "Look at it. Gold, Gisborne! Glittering! Do you not _see_ how it glitters?"

"I see it." Guy ground his teeth. The sound of his heart pounding filled his ears; it seemed more than likely that Vassey would hear it too.

The Sheriff _did_ seem to sense something amiss in the demeanor of his Master-at-Arms, for he spun round abruptly, twiddling a goldpiece thoughtfully between his stubby fingers. "You seem…out of sorts, Gisborne. Of course, you've never been one for smiles—for schoolgirl giggles or boyish charm—but I do expect a little more…excitement over the prospect of riches. Wealth is power." He paused, flicking the coin carelessly to the ground, and beginning to circle like a greedy vulture, his intense gaze making Guy's skin crawl. "But maybe that's just it. Maybe the riches…maybe they're not enough. I feel it too, Gisborne. I look around at the wealth and think, why isn't there _more_?"

"We will collect more taxes, my lord, we always do."

"So you say. Perhaps you would like to explain how effective you've been in collecting _more_ to Prince John when he arrives. The search, GIsborne, will wait for no one." The Sheriff's hand gripped his arm insistently. "It's time you put these muscles of yours to good work. I want this doubled—and if you have to _beat_ it out of those plump, pampered peasants, _all the better._"

Guy nodded, forcing himself to school his features into a combination of attentive composure and frosty deference. Behind the façade, a thousand thoughts were raging—and was it possible, or was he only imagining that he could hear Rose's rapid pulse mingling with his own?

_When did you become her compatriot and defender?_ a voice mocked in his mind. _When you found her breaking into the castle's treasury, doubtless pilfering as much as her pockets can carry? Was it only when you found that she was a liar and a thief that your weaknesses were played on? Is it because she reminds you of Marian?_

_I am not her protector or ally,_ he argued defiantly—defiance directed at his own thoughts (there was irony). _I _will_ deal with her—I will punish her as I see fit, perhaps all the more harshly than the Sheriff would. But—_

But. There was the catch. When before had he ever denied the Sheriff knowledge of a trespasser, traitor, or threat? There was only one occasion…one occasion that he had sworn on a hundred sleepless nights to never, ever repeat.

Vassey was still talking, and he realized with a jolt that he had not been listening. "Don't you agree, Gisborne?"

"Of course, my lord."

The Sheriff rolled his eyes, and Guy knew that he knew that he hadn't been listening. "You're so vacant. Such an idiot. It's a wonder that I don't have you replaced." He kicked thoughtfully at an overflowing chest, and Guy strained behind his mask of complacency, wondering how much longer he would have to bear the suspense.

To his relief, more footsteps were heard, and a guard appeared in the doorway, keeping a respectful distance…some people, it seemed, knew better than to enter the strong-room. "My lord, a messenger has just returned from the convoy. Robin Hood and his men attacked it, but they were defeated."

The Sheriff's face contorted with delight. "Yes! Good! Good, good, _good_! Brilliant!" He probably would have thrown his arms about the guard, but the man was already gone—probably, Guy thought, to avoid just such an occurrence. Vassey clapped his hands ecstatically. "Gisborne, for once one of your ideas—if one can call them ideas—has paid off. Give the pretty little bird a kissy-kiss from me…or maybe I'll give her one myself."

_Step right round the corner,_ Guy thought. If Vassey started pacing again in his glee, all might be lost. "This is good news."

"Hood, _foiled_! I can hardly believe it!" Vassey picked up a handful of coins and tossed them in the air. He rubbed his hands together. "Ah, this is wonderful. I just—come along, Gisborne. I feel the need to…oh, you know, change a tooth. It's such a celebratory occasion."

He was leaving. Not yet permitting himself a sigh of relief, Guy lingered for a moment. "I will be along in a few moments, my lord. I—a few of the pieces here have caught my eye. I…beg leave to select my monthly share."

"Of course." The Sheriff watched him shrewdly—but, Guy noticed gratefully—no more shrewdly than usual.

As his padding footsteps died away down the hall, Guy breathed again. He shut the door and bolted it, then turned. "Come out. He's gone."

Rose came forth from the shadows. She was trembling, and clearly trying not to.

The sight of her waifish beauty and memory of her indefinable spirit filled him with sudden and inexplicable fury. She had broken into the strong-room and rifled through its contents (no doubt taking her fair share, too), an act of such insolence that he was almost in awe of it. Then again, she had cost him a very uncomfortable ten minutes, and once again awakened in him that hateful weakness that caused him to protect with no reasonable cause—

"Thank you," she began, in a whisper that nearly softened him, but he let the already seething rage overtake him and strode forward, capturing her wrist in his fingers—as was rather his wont—and dragging her nearly against him.

"You," he growled, "Have a _very_ detailed explanation to make."

"It's not what you think," she began, but her voice was shaking. Her eyes were fixed unwaveringly on his, but it seemed that she could no longer keep the fear from her voice. He remembered that Marian's voice had never lost its smoothness, even when it was sharpened by an edge…she had never visibly lacked confidence in her abilities to cajole and convince him, not even when that meant meeting his sword—

Self-hatred fueled his anger. "Oh? Do you take me for a complete fool? That is a mistake which you seem to insist on making. I would advise against making it again."

"I don't take you for a fool. But—"

"What did you take?"

She flinched at the question; it was answer enough. "Nothing."

His eyes fixed on something, a bulge against the slim line of her waist.

"Nothing?" Just as he had intended, the words slipped out softly, an intimate threat. He knew that that—just as with Marian (Marian had been more refined in her tactics, but they were not so very different in their lies)—would disarm and discomfit her more than anything else. "What is that?"

"What is what?" Belying her words, a faint blush—as rosy as her name, he thought, and then pushed away the poetic comparison with revulsion—showed against her pale cheeks.

He pulled her closer, more tantalized than he would admit by the rush of her anxious breath against his cheek. "Show me."

"It is nothing. Why are you even looking at me in such a way?" Her attempt at righteous indignation was rather weaker than usual.

"I'll do much more than look, if you don't give it to me." He let a cruel smile slice across his features. "I'm no gentleman—aren't we agreed on this? I'll take it myself." She was so close to him now that she had turned her face away from his. He pressed his lips against her ear to finish the threat, trying to forget that it hurt him to feel her cringe away. "And I won't be delicate."

With her free hand, she fumbled in her sash. "Here." She took the opportunity to wrench her wrist free and step back. Her cheeks were burning, but the rest of her face was deathly white. In her hand—long-fingered and unusually calloused for a woman's (but then, she was a serving maid—no lady, like Marian), was an exquisite ring. Gold and silver and amethyst.

He lifted his eyebrows. "Hardly a trinket. Is there more?"

"No."

"What if I don't believe you?"

She flung back her hair—which he longed to tangle his fingers too much to admit…_damn it, you fool, this all over again_—and said, with a shred of defiance, "If you try to touch me, I'll…" the words trailed away.

He folded his arms nonchalantly across his chest, a show of patience. "You'll _what_?"

A flicker of fear showed in her eyes. "I'll…"

But there was nothing she could do, and they both knew it. Screaming for help would hardly aid her, under the present circumstances, and she had not the advantage of surprise—either by dagger or by fine words—this time.

_This time. Are you doing this again?_

A sick feeling swirled suddenly through him, a feeling of disgust that he could have felt the pain and chagrin of doing such a thing once, and yet now allow himself to slip into it once more—

_Would you stab Marian again?_

_No!_ The thought was horrific.

_But how can you know? Circles…always in circles. There is not one thing you have ever changed about yourself, at least not for the better…_

To forget such qualms—for the present—he pierced her with a gaze and asked again, mockingly, "What will you do?"

There was a flash of silver, and once more, he saw her slender dagger clasped in her hand. It surprised him—did she really think that she could best him? He was armed with a sword, and even without, was many times stronger—

His astonishment, though, paled in comparison with her next words.

With a stilled hand, she turned the dagger inwards. "I'll kill myself."

Her face twisted at the words—all the proud innocence gone, replaced by despair. That crime too, rested on his shoulders, and it was though he had killed something within her.

_Just as you always do._

Aloud, he said, cruelly, knowing that it would play on her sensibilities without touching his—"You'll go to Hell. Isn't suicide a mortal sin?"

Her teeth pressed against her lower lip in a moment of terrible realization. Just as he had thought, that was not a consequence she was willing to face. The dagger clattered to the floor. He thought he saw tears gleaming in her eyes, but they did not fall.

"Why must you do this?"

The question halted him. He had vowed to let her words have no power over him, and yet there was something…compelling about the way she questioned, challenged, _dared_. "I don't answer to anyone."

She smiled—a sad, twisted smile. There was still despair in her eyes. She still thought that he would hurt her…and perhaps he would. "But that's just it. You answer to _everyone_. To the highest bidder, whoever promises gold or pleasure or power. But don't you ever answer to yourself? Don't you ever think of how much happier you would be if you just did what was right?"

She intrigued and infuriated him all at once. Was he really considering being swayed by her again? _Were you really considering nearly attacking her again? That's a more just question…_

_I don't know…_He realized, then, that he also didn't know if he acted as he always did to feel again, or to stop feeling altogether.

"I was only taking it because…because I know the Sheriff will not pay me for pains. Is it…is it so much to ask, that I not be reimbursed for my services? Raised from the miserable station of made?"

He saw that she could sense his disbelief. "You expect me to accept that as reason enough? We both know that your moral code is far above such petty dealings. You did all of this for your friend. Is the ring another desperate attempt to pay Aileen's passage out of the castle?"

Rose's eyes snapped. "Will you leave her out of this? If you had not treated her as you did, I'd have no reason to resort to these tactics!"

"So it is for Aileen."

She was silent.

"I thought as much," he said, with a condescending glance. "Women."

"No, _honor_." The bold spirit had returned, though he wondered upon what grounds—she was by no means safe. "Not that you would know about that any more than you know about women."

He ground his teeth, unable to completely conceal how the shot had struck home. "Watch your words, serving maid. Whether or not you choose to accept it, I saved your life. Weren't you thanking me a moment ago?"

"Yes, I was. Before you showed once again what you really are, a—" she stopped short.

_A monster._ For some reason—some masochistic purpose—he needed to hear her say it. "What am I, really?"

To his surprise, she looked suddenly miserable. "I don't know what you are. I don't know—if you're monster. Sometimes you are, and then at other times…"

He tried to act as though he did not desperately wish to know what she saw at those other times. But her lips were closed—she would not say it, whatever _it_ was.

"Whether you choose it to be owed to man or monster, you are indebted to me." How could it be that his words came out so cold and calculating, when inside he felt as mired in misery as she was?

"Yes, I am." Her eyes, for the first time, were downcast—her arms were wrapped about her chest, and her shoulders were bent almost hopelessly. It was…fascinating, how her bursts of bravado so quickly faded into vulnerability. After a moment, she raised her eyes to his. "What's the price, then?" the words were hollow.

In that moment, he was torn. One part of him wanted nothing more than to imprison her in his arms, to crush her lips against his, to kiss away her independence and her dignity and the moral superiority she, a lowly servant, held untouchably above him—_just like Marian._

But in the end, even Marian had sacrificed that, bit by bit, through kisses and promises and lie upon lie…and though he had been the cause and catalyst of the sacrifice, nothing had hurt him more than to see her fall from on high…

_Take her. There's nothing she can do._ The desire burned in the shadows of his mind, in the shadows of the room, all among the glittering piles of stolen gold…

_Shadows…_they were closing in all about him, but her clear eyes and flaming hair broke through, a shaft of unexpected—and sometimes unwelcome—light. It was light, all the same…the only hope against being suffocated by darkness.

_You don't have to be cruel,_ a new voice suggested. It was true. There was, at the moment, no Vassey to goad him on, no Robin to oppose. There was only…a secret, between the two of them, between her and him and his ghosts. It was not as though anyone else needed to know that he had given in, just once, to the lonely humanity that still lingered somewhere deep within him.

Only Rose would know, and he was sure of her silence.

He shifted uncertainly, and then met her gaze. "I would ask that…"

The fear had faded from her eyes at the change in his tone, but she listened without interrupting him.

"I would ask that—you talk to me, sometimes." How pitiful it sounded, out in the open! _No one need know…_

"Talk to you?" she was confused, but not derisive. It was not, he realized, in her nature to mock.

"Yes." He bit the inside of lip till the coppery taste of blood came.

She ran a hand down her arm. "Just talking? Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

She mused on this for a moment. Then she looked perceptively at him. Her eyes seemed grayer each time they met his. "Because you are lonely?"

He swallowed his pride. "Yes." _No one need know…_

She nodded slowly, taking it in. "Very well. I agree to it."

He concealed, with effort, the stupid, impractical hope—the light—that suddenly filled him. _This can only lead to disappointment…_.To reassure himself that all was still as it ought to be (_no one need know,_ he repeated to himself again), he growled, "If I catch you in here again, I shall not be so merciful."

Disconcertingly, she looked more amused than alarmed by this. Was it even possible to frighten her for more than five minutes?

"I understand," she agreed. "May I…may I go, now?"

He nodded, not as curtly as he would have liked to. "I will…call on you when…"

"When you want to talk."

"Yes."

"Very well."

She slipped past him, gone before he could speak again. Had she really promised—

He stood in incredulous silence for a few moments. Something hard was pressing against his clenched fingers. He uncurled his fist, and the ring gleamed up against the black leather of his glove.

_ "Do you not _see_ how it glitters?"_ Vassey had said.

He cast the ring aside, unexpectedly chilled by its alluring glint.

Too much beauty could only be the harbinger of tragedy—this he knew from long experience.

But she had agreed to _talk with him_, and so he paid no heed to the ring's warning.

**A/N: Ok, what did you think? I wanted to get to this place all along, but I hope that it came across well to everybody! Just remember, if you're the hundredth reviewer, you get a free Robin Hood one-shot! Thanks for reading and for all the love!**


End file.
